Take Your Time
by VanessaxAtalanta
Summary: 5 years after the events of Kanata Kara, Izark and Noriko still face  many challenges.
1. Prologue

Disclaimer: Much as I love them, I do not own Izark or Noriko. All of the characters, place names, and other aspects of the manga Kanata Kara/ From Far Away are the intellectual property of author and artist Kyoko Hikawa. However, I've added a few of my own original characters to the mix. If you can't find a name in the books, I probably made it up (this means I have either given a name to Hikawa-san's nameless character or I've created a completely new one).

Author's Note: A much appreciated reviewer was kind enough to let me know that the time setting of the introduction was not clear. I had meant that to be a reverse chronological (last event first) thing, but I think this en medias (mid- plot) opening works better.

Thanks to BlueTrillium for looking over this latest version; it really helps.

xxxxx

Chapter 1: Prologue

_Winter, Fifth Year of the Awakened Age_

She held the reins as they rode up the dirt track. His hands were wrapped around hers, not to help control the horse—Tabiia was an obliging animal—but for the sake of contact. So great was his need for comfort that, had they been less visible, Noriko thought that Izark might have held her.

Nothing happened, really. There were the usual inquisitive glances, the double takes elicited by an attractive young couple. There were also longer looks, flashes of vague recognition, uneasy whispers, and furtive glances. Izark's palms were icy with apprehension.

Still, the hostler at the boarding stable did not deny them a stall. Nor did the innkeeper reject their request for a room. That elderly man, a lifelong resident of Anyitht, was one of those whose eyes narrowed when he saw the swordsman, as if trying to recall why that stoic, handsome face should be so familiar.

"Name, please, sir, and I need you to leave your sword. Any other weapons as well," the landlord said mechanically, still stealing glances at the young man from under his lashes.

Noriko felt the surge of tension that Izark did his best to mask. The warrior set his blade on the bar and met the old man's gaze. There was a hard edge to his voice when he replied.

"Izark Kia Tarj," he pronounced firmly, eyes black with defiance.

The innkeeper froze, his ruddy face blanching under thin whiskers.

_Uh-oh,_ Noriko thought. This didn't look like a good beginning. Not wholly unexpected, but not good either. _Izark? _She thought at him. He did not respond. Concentrating, she sought for one of the many gateways between her mind and his, only to find that one and all were firmly closed. _This _frightened her. Gently, she rested a hand on her young man's arm, a comforting gesture, and a restraining one.

Izark went perfectly still, then slowly turned his stare away from the now thoroughly unnerved innkeeper. The young woman looked back at him with a pained smile. His face softened.

"I'm sorry," the warrior apologized, carefully pushing the sword hilt first across the counter. It was not clear whom he addressed––he had growled at the old man, but his eyes were on his companion. "Please rent us a room. We have come a long way, and would like to rest."

The warrior's tone was level and sincere, causing the proprietor to relax a little. Hesitantly, he took up the weapon and turned around to unlock the cupboard in which it would be stored. "It has been many years since you left Anyitht, Master Izark," he said with his back turned, using a respectful term of address, but a _very _neutral tone.

"Ten years."

"…Begging your pardon, but I believe it is eleven."

"No, ten. I heard about—the house." Those last words came out hoarse.

Surprised, the old man was silent as he lifted a key from where it hung on the inside of the cupboard door. Turning back, he placed the key on the counter rather than hand it to his new guests. "Second floor, fifth door to the right."

"Thank you," Izark responded just as tonelessly as he exchanged coins for key.

"Thank you." Noriko sounded like a friendlier, female echo of her companion.

Perhaps it was her slight accent—or perhaps he was so disconcerted by the reappearance of Tarj and Kia's 'young monster' that he had forgotten her—but the innkeeper started when she spoke. Izark felt a certain wry humor at the series of expressions which passed over the landlord's face: recognition of Noriko's existence, realization of her proximity to Izark, shock at the hand still touching the warrior's shoulder, and speculation as to all the possible relationships implied by such closeness. Cautiously, the old man gave a half bow.

"And your name," he inquired slowly, trying and failing to place exactly who she was, "Mistress?"

"Tachiki Noriko," she replied with a smile, letting her hand down to press against Izark's and feeling his swordsman's calluses as his fingers immediately laced with hers. "Noriko."

"I am Erdon Jetta Marmadu," was the only polite response to be given, so the innkeeper gave it. The uneasiness in the old man's face was now joined by an agony of curiosity as he looked between them.

Unfortunately for Erdon, Izark was not in the mood to reveal personal details, and with a curt nod ended the conversation. The innkeeper was left to wonder as he watched the pair make their way down the hall. _Guardian and ward? No, that is only ever a pretense. Perhaps she is his slave? But slaves do not speak unless bidden. Still, she can't have a choice but to follow him. Or perhaps she did choose, because she does not know __what he really is__. He is very handsome, after all, and it is not so uncommon for naive girls to be led astray by handsome rogues. I must speak to my brother and see what he thinks…_

I I I I I

Noriko let the door to 'second floor, fifth door to the right' swing closed behind her. Izark had already dropped the saddlebags and was sitting slumped on the edge of the nearer bed, looking wilted. Setting her satchel by the door, the young woman walked over and sat down beside him.

_Izark._

He looked up, finally. "This place hasn't changed much," he muttered bitterly, absently putting an arm around her.

She laid her head on his shoulder. "It does seem a little backward." _Or backwoods,_ she thought privately. "But that's not what you mean. Do all the public houses in this country lock up guests' weapons?"

"Most," Izark confirmed. "Tazasina has always had trouble with bandits, even more than Zago. You could say that raids are an annual rite here, or they were when I was young. It makes the people who live in isolated places suspicious and careful." He sighed. "Not that I mind; it's actually a good practice, but it's not much use if the owner asks someone to hand over their sword if that someone turns around and stabs him, or her. Noriko, this—" the young man twisted to pull her close and murmured, "I've made a mistake, bringing you here."

She smiled sadly into his shirt as she wrapped her arms around his chest. "Not a mistake. A lost cause isn't the same as a mistake. But this isn't a lost cause. Not yet."

The warrior drew back just enough to face her, cupping her chin so that she looked him in the eyes. They were the dull, washed-out gray of an overcast sky, the color of defeat. "They will never accept me. They will not accept you. And they certainly will not accept our child." His words fell like stones, and it grieved her that he believed them.

"You don't know that. Izark–"

"Didn't you feel it? They are full of fear. They think I'm a demon, and they think you're a fool for being with me. I could stand it—if we lived out in the forest; never came to town—but you..." His hand left her chin as he shook his head, dejected. "I know you. You need other people; other friends to talk to at least once in a while."

"Three months. Just three months, and if things don't get better then we'll go. Izark, it isn't _your_ fault they think that. The Source of Evil is gone now. I can prove I'm not a fool, just as you can prove you're not a monster." _Please don't give up! _"We have to try." He was looking away. She bit her lip, searching for a good argument. "We need to stop traveling soon anyway…" _This place has haunted him. He'll never be able to move on if we don't at least try._

She had not intended him to hear that thought, but she knew he must have when his eyes widened. Slowly, Izark turned his gaze back to her face, a world of pain in his own. Softly, he told her, "If I agree to that, then we might as well plan for a year." _In three months it will be dangerous for you to ride._ "And if we can't convince them? What then?"

"Then we'll leave. We'll return to Zago, or to the Kilahb. But Izark, _we have to try._" This time, he did not look away, and he saw her eyes brighten with hope as she smiled. "Besides, I want to see the place you talked about, the one you thought we could have."

"What?" He smiled for the first time that day, but warned, "I said, we _might _be able to have it. I don't even know if it can be made livable. It wasn't when I found it, and that was a long time ago." He paused, thinking. "But—very well. _If _you like the place, and _if _it can be saved, then we will stay the year. You're right," he whispered, embracing her once more. "I have a duty here, and I must fulfill it."

xxxxx

Noriko: Um, huh? How'd we suddenly get here? What happened in the last—three years? Izark, it's been three years, hasn't it?

Izark: More or less. It took us a few months over a year to make it back to the Sea of Trees, and then we spent another year on the Western Continent before leaving to help Clairgeeta. If this is the end of year 5, then we're missing most of year 3 and all of 4 and 5. So, what _are _we doing here? And why would I want to come back this god-forsaken speck on the map? Or rather, _not_ on the map?

Muse: Be patient. Like I said, the format is different. A reviewer mentioned that the timeline was a little hard to follow, so I took out the introduction and added an en medias prologue. Just pay attention to the italics under the chapter titles, and you'll know when the chapter begins if the setting has changed significantly.

Izark:_ (skeptically) _And you think that's less confusing––

Muse: You be quiet. Readers, please let me know what you think!


	2. Westward Bound

Author's Note: It's been––let's see––about two months since BlueTrillium beta-ed this chapter for me, and I promptly forgot to upload it. Oops ('^_^,).

Anyway, thanks to BlueTrillium.

xxxxx

Chapter 2: Westward Bound

_Autumn, Fourth Year of the Awakened Age_

It was about four years since the Awakening had come to this world in the form of a seventeen-year-old girl. A ship swayed gently as it cut through the brisk water, propelled by a stiff wind on its course from Mouzk to Guzena. Now a young woman, Tachiki Noriko stood on the bow, legs braced as she watched the setting sun. It drifted slowly down to touch the horizon, setting the water ablaze with glimmers: some rose, some vermilion, some violet. When she had first fallen into this version of reality, she had clung to the fact that the sun still rose and set everyday––albeit in a west-east passage rather than an east-west one––and that _most_ of the laws of physics with which she was familiar still applied. Westerly situation notwithstanding, the sunrise that morning had reminded her of the times when her family had taken summer vacations to the Pacific Ocean. There was a reason Japan was called "the Land of the Rising Sun."

_Noriko._

His consciousness brushed her drifting mind even as Noriko recognized Izark's characteristic quiet approach. She turned and beamed up at him. Her expression was infectious, and the serious young man couldn't help but smile warmly in return.

At twenty-three, the warrior stood a few inches over six feet (183 cm), head and shoulders taller than Noriko's definitive five-two (155 cm). To her family Noriko had described Izark as Eurasian. In the world she came from his jet black hair, high cheekbones, and the way his deep-set eyes slanted under angled brows would have suggested oriental heritage. His straight nose and defined jaw could have come from anywhere, while the cast of his skin––tanned from a summer chasing around the Western Continent on horseback––was entirely European.

His proportions were almost unnatural in their perfection.

In short, Izark Kia Tarj had the kind of looks that would meet the standards of beauty for every human ethnicity under the suns. As if this were not enough, his eyes refused to be classified. One minute they were so black that they seemed to absorb the light; the next they could be midnight blue, or tornado green, or stormy gray; it all depended on his mood and whether or not his feelings could be hidden. At the moment they were a profound azure, a color that Noriko had seen more and more frequently over the past three years.

After wrapping the shawl he had brought carefully around the young woman's shoulders, Izark added his arm and asked, "What were you thinking?"

Noriko continued to smile as she attempted to retrace webs of gossamer thought. "I'm not sure." Finally catching a thread, she looked back at the sun, now quite low. "Have I told you that Japan is sometimes called the Land of the Rising Sun? Before the Americas were discovered, people in Europe, Africa and Asia believed that the Earth was flat, and that the Japanese Islands were closest to the place where they thought the sun rose every day because they were the farthest east. Our oldest legends say that the great gods of the sea and sky created the Islands, and that the Islands became the kingdom of their daughter, the sun goddess Amaterasu, and her children after her. Of course, all that was disproved by modern science."

"I think the scholars of _this_ world would pay to hear half of what you know about 'modern science'," the warrior chuckled. Noriko's explanation of mirages had made no sense to Izark until he had tried making one, something he was uniquely capable of doing. She had spoken with complete confidence as she informed Dr. Clairgeeta that the world she was born to traveled around its Sun, and that this caused the seasons. The learned man had listened in awe as she explained that the Earth also spun on an axis running through the core perpendicular to the equator, causing day and night as different parts of the globe were exposed to the Sun's light. Furthermore, the Moon of her world was about a quarter of the size of the Earth, which it circled in the same way the Earth circled the Sun. The Sun and the Moon looked about the same size; but that was because the Sun was enormous and very, very far away whereas the moon was, by comparison, very close. Noriko maintained that since day, night, seasons, and moon phases occurred in this world as well, she figured it worked the same here. When Clairgeeta had inquired where Noriko had learned all this (was his head reeling as Izark's had been?), the young woman had had to think before answering, _"Where I come from, anyone with a good elementary education learns the basics."_

The implications of Noriko's thoughts hit him like an avalanche, suffocating his amusement and freezing his heart. _She misses her family; her world, _he realized. _Has she begun to regret staying with me?_ If that was true, then Izark desperately needed to convince her that he appreciated her presence– that he _needed _her. It had been over a year since they were in the Sea of Trees, the place where she had literally fallen into his life as his Awakening. Since then, they had traveled all over the Eastern Continent, accompanying Dr. Clairgeeta and his entourage. Now they were returning to Selena Guzena on the Western Continent after receiving a message that a gathering of their allies was to take place at the home of Zena Il Pisca and her sister, Gaya. They would be less than two months' hard travel away from the Sea of Trees. Would Noriko finally do as he dreaded she would, and ask to be sent home? If she did ask––there was no way he could deny her request, but…

His arm tightened, almost imperceptibly, around her shoulders.

_Almost_ imperceptibly. Noriko felt it, as well as the sudden unease of his mind. Turning yet again, the young woman peered into Izark's face, searching for the cause of his distress.

_Izark?_ she queried silently.

The young man hesitated, then drew his beloved into a true embrace. He had to explain. It was absolutely necessary that she understand, and fully, what he was feeling. Bending his head, he pressed his lips lightly to hers and made his voiceless plea. Thoughts are more complex than words, involving more kinds of emotion and imagery than speech can express. Thus, this narrative is a poor translation.

_I love you. I will do anything in my power and knowledge for the sake of your happiness. If you must leave, I will send you. But don't ask me to be happy. Please don't ask me to be happy, because I can't be happy without you._

_Izark! _Her response was a scolding, like one given to a forgetful child. A memory flashed between them, and Izark had the most peculiar sensation of looking up into his own astonished face, but the words he heard were the same as Noriko's that day some three years ago. _"No! Of course, I want to go home. I want to see my family. But… I couldn't stand being separated from you. I want to stay with you, Izark. I want to be with you forever."_

Relief flooded him. She did understand.

This exchange took place in a manner of seconds, as thoughts do. Its transience, however, did not guarantee their complete privacy. When they parted, Noriko discovered that Wei was leaning against the mast and watching the pair of them with great interest. Noticing the young woman's blush, Izark turned to face in the direction of her gaze and glared, his own face coloring. Wei was one of the few people capable of sneaking up on the swordsman––he'd spent countless hours over the last year getting the knack of it.

"When Katarina mentioned that it was getting cold," Wei informed Izark, a wicked grin playing across his delicate features, "you left before she could finish. It's almost dinnertime, and she was going to suggest that you tell Noriko. She had me hunt you both down." With that, the slight man turned and bounded to a stairwell leading below deck. "Move it," he called over his shoulder. "Dr. Clairgeeta will insist that we wait for you, and table service is slow as it is. Personally, I'm starving."

"He didn't have to look so amused," Izark grumbled as he escorted Noriko to the narrow stair.

Noriko giggled. She knew that Izark's comment was only meant to cover his embarrassment at having walked out before Katarina had finished speaking. She also knew that he would be subjected to much teasing for being 'overprotective', though considering their situation when they met the term wasn't really pertinent. His somewhat parental attitude was simply an integral part of their relationship.

As they descended the short flight of steps, the young woman that was the Awakening sent the man that was the Sky Demon one more thought, a combination of memory and new concept.

_"I will stay with you…for all my life…" Especially… "If you want me to."_

II II II II II

_They make an odd family, _Noriko decided over supper that night.

Danjel, the grandfather, was a veteran warrior of the former Gray Bird Tribe and a walking contradiction. He was practical, yet––as a white-haired eighty-nine-year-old who routinely climbed houses––extraordinary. He was traditional, yet surprisingly tolerant–of his grandson's eccentricities, for instance. In general, he treated both of his grandchildren as equals to himself, though on occasion he had used his authority with Wei. His face was lined and drawn with a wide flat nose, bushy brows, and a gentle expression; his back was beginning to stoop. Nevertheless, he was still the equal of nearly every swordsman he encountered.

Katarina, the elder sister, was pretty and plump, cheerful, prim, and kind (usually). With her cherubic face and soft, wavy blond hair, she had an air of innocence and docility that she used to full advantage when necessary—it was only skin deep. Noriko often found Katarina's words to be at odds with the attitude in which she voiced them. The female warrior treated threats of bodily harm with smiling nonchalance. Then again, it was common knowledge that accosting a woman of the Gray Bird Tribe could be damaging to one's health. At thirty, Katarina had proved the accuracy of that knowledge time after time, using pain to make the lesson stick.

Wei was Katarina's twenty-one-year-old brother, a mischievous young man who delighted in trying to rile Izark. He was short by the standards of his people, with slender shoulders and the build of a dancer; he reminded Noriko of nothing more than a young cheetah. His eyes– a dark brown that matched his elder sister's perfectly– were large with long, defined lashes, and his oval face was framed by tapering layers of fine white-blonde hair that emphasized the cheetah cub effect. If he wore a dress––and he frequently did––Wei could not easily be recognized as a male. Quite on the contrary, most people assumed that he was a very attractive female. Despite his looks and his (normally) mild temperament, he was a deadly martial artist with an affinity for sharp objects. He was also a bottomless pit.

"Are you quite finished, Brother Dear?" Katarina asked in a poisonously sweet voice as Wei polished off a third plateful. She only called him "Brother" or, more particularly, "Dear" when she was teasing. That, or raging.

"Nearly." Wei dabbed his mouth elegantly with his napkin. "There's still room for more, but… Yes, I will live." He said this with a straight face, though his eyes sparkled with mirth.

"We'll be at port by noon tomorrow," Lori son of Arikowa––formerly a peacekeeper of Stenny in the country of Aibisk, now a member of Dr. Clairgeeta's retinue––commented without batting an eye. Noriko had never asked his age, and he'd never volunteered it. Ever meticulous, Lori kept his thick, tight brown curls cropped to his shoulders and not a whit longer; he could make a travel-stained tunic look like a starched military uniform. He had no sense of humor, and was unlikely to ever acquire one.

"Port––as in land? Or at least wooden docks anchored in solid ground?" Dr. Clairgeeta only half joked. With a solid build common to northern Aibisk and a direct, clear-sighted gaze, the prematurely gray philosopher gave the impression of great vitality and athleticism. Vitality he had; athleticism he had not. One did not put Dr. Clairgeeta on a horse's back and expect him to not fall off––better to hire a carriage or, if none was to be found, to walk. Even the Lady Niana, wife of Grand Duke Jeida de Gilenee of Zago, was not so ungainly. It was quite plain that he detested all aspects of travel by sea, especially the close quarters and the constant challenge to his limited sense of balance.

Izark was fighting a losing battle as he attempted to smother his own laughter by pressing one fist over his mouth. He was partly successful: no sound escaped him, but his handsome face was flushed with the effort. When he caught Noriko's look of concern, he moved his hand just enough for her to see a brazen grin before hiding it from the others. She saw it, then immediately clapped her hands to her mouth in delighted surprise. Izark's smile would never cease to be a miracle. Not for Noriko.

II II II II II

"Wei, I absolutely forbid you to wear a dress," Danjel growled abruptly upon their entry into Selena Guzena, a month after their landing at Chugui Port on the coast of Guzena.

"Grandpa, I'm already wearing a dress," Wei said meekly, doing his best to sound reasonable. "Where do you expect me to change?"

"Find an abandoned alley for all I care, just do it! Shirt, leggings, belt, sandals, and _lose the lip paint_**.**" The old man's usually mild tenor was strained. "I was able to justify certain of your behaviors while we were working underground against the Bonya clan. In civilized company, I expect you to dress as the man you are."

Wei heaved a dramatic sigh. "Well, if I must…" Suddenly his eyes sparkled with mischief. "Then Izark has to tie his hair back."

"Drop dead." Izark's voice was bored. Despite the odd rhythm of the dialogue, he hadn't missed a beat. Scenes like this had happened just inside the walls of every peaceful city their group had visited in the last year or so. Izark could understand Danjel's urgency. There was a big mess whenever people, particularly men and older boys, mistook Wei for a female. It caused an incredible display of Wei's fighting ability when said men and boys were of the bad sort. As a rule, the young tribesman could and would beat the snot out of anyone who acted on the presumption that his strength and temperament matched his looks. What Izark couldn't account for was what caused Wei to dress as he did––in drag. Traveling in the company of close acquaintances, Wei was quite comfortable in typical men's costume. Mention imminent contact with strangers, and he would immediately be digging in his bag for a high collared shift and cheap glass jewelry.

In any event, Izark wished Wei would stop bothering him about his hair. He saw no reason to change the hairstyle he had worn since childhood, and even less reason to oblige Wei's pointless demands. Besides, on the one occasion in which he had complied out of a desire to settle the matter, the shift had caused him a headache.

"Deal," Noriko's voice brought Izark out of his short reverie. She reached up to finger-comb his hair, skillfully pulling it into a low ponytail and securing it with one of the thin ties she had recently taken to wearing in her own waist length tresses. The feeling of her hands on his scalp gave the young man goose bumps, but he was collected enough to comprehend when she whispered, "Just till we reach Auntie's." When he turned around to look at her, Noriko correctly interpreted the _why?_ in his raised eyebrow. She grinned.

_He'll just change back as soon as we get there._

II II II II II

"Ah! There it is! Everyone, I found it!" Noriko, having grown up in a Japanese city of over one million, was well practiced at finding her way back to places she had visited, provided that her first trip took place during the day. As the group made their way down the wide lane which led to the Seer Zena's townhouse, Izark realized just how much he would appreciate seeing Gaya, Barago, Agol and Geena again. He expected that Grand Duke Jeida would be there with his family. Much as he would have liked to deny it, Izark would enjoy Alef's company, despite the man's coercive tendencies. Donya was further away than Zago, therefore he could only hope that Doros had been able to come. He doubted that Mardwoog, as mayor of Ennamarna, would have been allowed to set aside his duties long enough to make the journey. He even felt glad that he would soon be meeting Banadam again, though he had no intention whatsoever of giving the young guard even a moment alone with Noriko.

These pleasant thoughts were cut short as a small figure lurched to its feet from where it had been sitting on Zena's front step. There was a shriek.

"**Noriko-neechan!"**

Had he been anyone else, Izark would not have had time to catch Noriko, who was nearly bowled over by the enthusiasm of the dark haired child's greeting. The little girl had her arms wrapped around Noriko's waist as she babbled joyfully, speaking so quickly that at first Izark could not absorb the fact that she was talking in another language entirely.

Noriko's head had snapped up at the Japanese honorific. Now her eyes widened as she stared down at the child's oriental features.

"Akane-chan!" Finally regaining the power of speech, Noriko switched languages without realizing it. "[Little cousin! Why––how––What are you doing here, Akane?]"

Nine-year-old Akane rattled something off, and Noriko looked up to stare at Izark. Izark stared back. That the little girl was from Noriko's world, and that she knew Noriko well…it was impossible… wasn't it?

Immediately he set the young woman back on her feet, gently but firmly prying her from the child's grip. His hand was in hers as they hurried forward to fling open the door, even as the sheer improbability of this miracle dragged at his mind.

_Could it be…?_

xxxxx

Author's Note: This is the _four_-times edited version of Chapter 2. Please review. : )

~Muse


	3. Appearances

Author's Note: Thanks to BlueTrillium, for taking the time to read this over.

xxxxx

For once, Noriko beat Izark to it. Driven by the overriding need to confirm the significance of Akane's presence, the young woman fell ungracefully through the door when it opened without her having pushed it–– straight into the woman who had just dashed to admit their group. This person exclaimed once, then caught Noriko up in a tight hug. With her face half buried in shoulder length hair so like her own in color, Noriko whispered one word through happy tears.

"Mama."

xxxxx

Chapter 3: Appearances

Glocia de Gilenee, daughter of Grand Duke Jeida de Gilenee of Zago and his wife Niana de Marshans, had recently celebrated her twenty-first birthday. That evening after supper, she surveyed the gathering before her with great satisfaction. She had hardly known what to think when, six months ago, a middle aged woman had slipped past all the guards on her family's estate in Zago to speak with her father. Alef was still smarting from the shame of it.

The lady had been very tall and thin, with a face that might once have been handsome, but never pretty. Pale hair, skin, and eyes made her more striking still; she should have been difficult to overlook. She gave her name only as Tara, and had refused all courtesies. With all possible frankness, the imposing woman had explained that she was a native of Noriko's birth-world, one with the talent and knowledge required for traveling between the planes. The question she put forth was simple: if she were to convey Noriko's family from her world to this one, would Jeida be willing to provide for them until they had been allowed to see Noriko?

Of course the Duke had agreed, at which point Tara had simply nodded and ––according to a very flustered Jeida–– vanished.

Two months later on the eve of the summer solstice, in the dead of night, Duke Jeida's guests (as the ordinary staff referred to them) had arrived. Glocia had not actually seen it happen. However, an hour before the group of strangely dressed visitors actually presented themselves at the manor gate, the young woman had had an episode the details of which she would not soon forget. Halfway through some tax records she was supposed to be reviewing, Glocia was overcome by the most surreal sense of otherness. She distinctly remembered smelling saltwater in the air, which should have been impossible in the landlocked Eego District; more than a thousand miles west of the Midland Sea.  
Not long after this strange experience, a wide-eyed maid had burst into the room to summon the young mistress to the entrance hall.

Tara had stood in the antechamber. Behind her was a group of five adults and one child. Excluding the pale lady, whose dress was closer to the local attire than it wasn't, all had worn some manner of brightly patterned robes (none of Jeida's family had ever seen yukata before) and wooden sandals. Behind the people stood a number of what appeared in the torchlight to be traveling trunks.

Tara had introduced Noriko's family to the nobles as if she were conducting a business transaction––which, Glocia realized, she probably was. Noriko's father was rawboned and black-haired, with high cheekbones that seemed to jut from either side of his face. The fact that his hair was pulled into a low horsetail accentuated the thinness of his features. There was crackling attention in his deep brown eyes and in the gull's wing shape of his eyebrows. Tachiki Daisuke had stood straight though not tall as he greeted Jeida and his family with a bow and a grin that shone with enthused gratitude. Now Glocia knew from whom Noriko had learned to sparkle.

The young noblewoman had done a double take upon seeing Tachiki Yuri. With exception to her fringe of bangs, Noriko was a taller, younger image of her mother. The older woman seemed to exude tranquility.

Yuri's father, Suou Jin, had impressed Glocia as being a kindly old man, but his presence was entirely overwhelmed by those of his descendants.

It was obvious from his similarities to Yuri that Tachiki Jinta was Noriko's brother. He was twenty-three and on a height with his father. Even more than his little sister, Jinta emulated Yuri's easygoing disposition. His agreeable personality had made him welcome in the society of Glocia's brothers, Banadam, and some of the other young men of the household.

Shimatoku Chiyako was Daisuke's younger sister, and therefore Jinta and Noriko's aunt. The Duke's daughter had judged her to be around thirty, but it was a little hard to tell. In all her life, Glocia had never met anyone quite like this woman. Noriko and Yuri were exotic and beautiful, but in a soft, gentle way. Chiyako was devastating. Her face, like her brother's, had sharper contours than those of her sister-in-law and niece, and her large, black-brown eyes were distinctly slanted under the hereditary arched brows. Unlike Daisuke, Chiya-san–– as she liked to be called–– let her mane of fly-away black hair hang loose around her shoulders unless she was doing something strenuous. Each gesture she made, every word she uttered brimmed with life and confidence. She was quick to laugh, quick to remark, quick of wit, and quick to help.

Akane was Chiyako's daughter; a bold, bright child of nine. Glocia supposed she had inherited her father's looks. With her moon-shaped face and cropped hair, she bore very little resemblance to her stunning mother in anything but personality. The little girl's eyes, though muddy brown, gave off such fierce curiosity as to make them glow. Glocia thought that the oddest thing about Chiyako's child was that pin-straight black hair. It was so _short– _probably she shortest she had ever seen on anyone, male or female, that was older than an infant.

This precipitous arrival was followed by a mad scramble to organize some sort of reunion between Noriko, 2,000 miles away at the time; and her family, ensconced at Fief Gilenee in the Eego District of Zago. A month and a half of severe frustration had taught Akane to speak the common language of the Midland Sea quite fluently, and now she never stopped asking questions. Having been absorbed into the companionship of Rontarna and Koriki–– people his own age that were willing to teach him––Jinta was learning almost as quickly. Upon her arrival, Chiyako had established a place for herself helping the cooks, maids, and stable hands; however, as these people did not have much time to talk, began to speak more slowly. It was Yuri who––very sensibly it seemed to Glocia––attached herself to Niana, in whom she had a peer and a sufficiently loquacious teacher.

Of the six, Daisuke had had the most difficult time breaking down the language barrier. Though he would have found a good instructor in the Duke, Noriko's father must have sensed that Jeida had little time to mime and dictate and "explain" common nouns and verbs. And the Grand Duke really was very busy. Besides helping her mother manage the house, Glocia had done her best to relieve her father of at least part of the mountain of paperwork he received every day. Yuri had evidently noticed that her husband did not take part in conversations that included Midland. Glocia couldn't count the number of times she had overheard the woman carefully relaying all of the new words she had managed to decipher to Daisuke, pronouncing the word, then it's meaning in Japanese, then in the Midland again. He would then pronounce the word himself, sometimes incorrectly. After much repetition and piecework, and with much assistance from his patient wife, the man was gradually accumulating a reasonably well-stocked vocabulary. He used it primarily in the gathering of what seemed to be a history of his daughter's life in this world and all the factors contributing to the fulfillment of the prophecy of the Awakening.

The grandfather had no trouble whatsoever–– mainly because he didn't try. Ojii-san, as Jin had requested through Yuri he be called by anyone under fifty, learned four words: 'yes', 'no', 'please', and 'thank you', and declined to learn anymore, saying through his daughter that his memory was no longer what it used to be.

The road from Gilenee to Selena Guzena had not been nearly as eventful as some of Glocia's previous travels. They had arrived at Miss Zena's house only two days before Noriko's party.

Now, _finally_, after four months of planning, arrangements being made (across countries, seas and _universes_) and travel (between countries, continents and _universes_) they were––for the most part–– all here in one place: Dr. Clairgeeta; Lori the guardsman, from Aibisk; the two sets of former Gray Bird Tribesmen (Gaya, Zena, and Banadam meeting Danjel, Katarina, and Wei); Miss Zena's assistants, Anita and Rottenina; Noriko; her family; and Izark. Duke Jeida had, after much deliberation and even more pleading (there aren't many truly disinterested people who are willing to take government posts), found someone suitable to act as his steward for the time necessary to travel to Guzena, catch up with friends, make some gestures of diplomacy, and get back to Zago. Naturally Niana, Rontarna, Koriki, and Glocia had all opted to accompany him and Noriko's family. Chief Commander Alef de Elazard had, in the politest language possible, demanded that he be allowed to accompany them. Glocia suspected that, had her father found any reason to order Alef to stay in Zago, they would have discovered him in the luggage two weeks down the road. Agol and Geena were expected to arrive with Barago in a few days. Sadly, Mardwoog was too busy in Ennamarna to justify making the trip, and Doros had preferred to stay with his animals. Still, the presence of the Noriko's family had certain conciliatory value.

Glocia had selected this particular bench as her seat for its excellent view of the living room. From here, she was able to watch as Noriko knelt on the floor with Chiyako, speaking in fast Japanese and gesturing animatedly as had become her habit while she was still learning the language. Yuri listened nearby, a quiet smile in the curve of her mouth. Seeing them side by side, Glocia realized that there were differences between Noriko and her mother after all: though both possessed dark auburn hair, the girl seemed to have inherited the finer texture of her much longer strands from her father. And there was something else––some subtle variation in expression that could completely differentiate otherwise identical faces. Glocia would decide later that it was the difference between the ageless beauty of experience and that of youthful vigor, that aforementioned 'sparkle'.

Not far from the Japanese women, Akane was showing Katarina the toss she had learned in her judo class about half a year ago, and paying careful attention as the Gray Bird demonstrated a particularly useful grip. The child had staunchly refused to wear anything remotely like a skirt; she had compromised with Niana by accepting the loose smocks and leggings typically worn by younger children. The black hair that had so shocked Glocia had grown out a bit, but not enough to seem normal.

Duke Jeida spoke seriously with Zena and two Guzena ministers a few steps to Glocia's left. Down the wall to her right, Tachiki Jinta sat in a semicircle with Rontarna, Banadam, and Niana. He was teaching them to play the instrument in his lap, which he called a guitar. Lori son of Arikowa, the guardsman from Aibisk, leaned against the back wall as he watched the lesson, looking as if he wanted to join, but wasn't quite brave enough.

Dr. Clairgeeta sat on the bench opposite to Glocia's position, conducting his own review and smiling at her when she met his eye. Beaming in return, she turned her attention to the chairs in the center of the room. Danjel and Ojii-san sat together, sharing without words some inside joke known exclusively to seniors. Then again, perhaps she did know what they were laughing at. Koriki, bless him, stood near the door. His companion was Anita. They were flirting.

Now _here_ was something interesting. At the tea table near the opposite wall, Rottenina was listening attentively, though with evident puzzlement, to Wei. _She was in the kitchen when they arrived,_ Glocia realized. Wei, risking his grandfather's displeasure, had donned a clean brown shift and his favorite earrings. _Everyone has described Wei as a man, and now Rottenina doesn't know what to make of him. _The problem was made worse by the fact that Wei did not seem to have put on his female persona along with his dress. Still, they seemed to be having a nice conversation.

But where was Alef? There, just to the right of Dr. Clairgeeta's bench, leaning against the opposite wall in his typical carefree attitude next to Izark. For once, the man Glocia had known since she was ten and he sixteen was silent, though companionably so. His reasons were obvious. Izark, instead of his usual composed expression, wore the stoic mask of someone who is distinctly uncomfortable and trying hard not to show it. _Why?_ When Alef looked up, Glocia caught his eye, and tilted her head to indicate Izark. He answered her with a look that was half smile and half grimace, then rolled his eyes to the spot diagonally across the room from himself. Glocia had to stand and peek around her father and his peers to see Daisuke speaking quietly with Gaya. Every few minutes, the Japanese man would glance at Izark.

The young woman couldn't help but giggle as she returned to her seat. Of course Izark was uncomfortable. He usually knew where people were looking, and hated being scrutinized himself. Glocia smiled at Alef, then turned her gaze back to the room at large.

Chiyako was talking now, with an expression of pure satisfaction as Noriko listened, her eyes serious. Glocia would have liked to speak with her friend, but thought she should have some time with her relatives first. _There is always tomorrow._

Danjel had finally remembered to check Wei's apparel, and sent him to change with a glare that might have frozen the tea at his grandson's elbow. Now he took the empty seat by Rottenina in order to explain the situation, as Wei apparently had not. _Her_ expression was, at this point, a perfect mixture of amusement and curiosity. Danjel was obviously surprised by the girl's composure. _Well, _Glocia reflected, _I suppose many people react badly when they identify a transvestite._

"Glocia, you've been sitting over here without talking to anyone for quite long enough," Niana said in her daughter's ear, making her start. "Come and listen to Rontarna play. He's getting good at 'Violet Leaf'."

III III III III III

"I simply don't," Danjel declared between sips, "understand that boy. I don't think he _wants_ to be mistaken for a girl, yet whenever he meets new people, he insists on dressing like one." The old man shook his head, then looked back at his listener. "Forgive my grandson. Wei tends to confuse people, even when he doesn't mean to." With that the aging tribesman stood up and returned to his seat by Jin, taking his teacup with him.

Twenty-year-old Rottenina remained where she was, thinking about what had just taken place. Personally, the dark-haired girl didn't really care whether Wei was male or female, or how he chose to dress for strangers. He was polite, attentive, and engaging. He had a taste for situation comedy and a pleasant turn of phrase. When her foster sister, Anita, abandoned her to dally with Koriki, Rottenina had been happy to talk with another young woman. She _had_ been a bit confused––she had been told that Noriko and Katarina were the only women arriving today––but it didn't really signify that the amiable young woman turned out to be an amiable young man. _He's pretty too_, she thought. _No matter how you look at him, he's pretty._

She was pouring another cup of tea when Wei returned, this time in a short black tunic trimmed with a border of white vines. _He has good taste, _was Rottenina's thought as she handed him the cup, having realized that his old one must be cold by now. "You were saying something about how you didn't think Izark slept like most people." It had been an interesting subject, and Rottenina had been a bit irritated when Danjel interrupted.

"That's right." Wei smiled. He always appreciated tact, and was grateful when the girl chose to ignore what had just occurred. "When we were in Mouzk, someone managed to blow the supports out from under the dais Dr. Clairgeeta was speaking from. Well, Izark managed to get everyone on and around the thing out of the way except for himself. Anyone else would have been killed, but all he got was some cracked ribs, a set of very…_colorful_ bruises, and a need for rest. Still, he insisted that we leave that afternoon, to keep on schedule. Lori took the first watch when we camped that night, and it seemed strange to me for some reason. Then I realized that we had gotten into a routine where Izark always took the first watch. I also realized that I had never been on watch for more than an hour since he and Noriko joined us, and it was _always _Izark who relieved me. When I asked Lori about it, he said that it was the same for him. Well, I had my first three-hour watch in months that night, and by that time I was wondering if Izark _ever_ slept. I don't always think straight after midnight. I shook him to see if he wasn't just faking. He'd really been asleep, for once, and he'd nearly strangled me by the time he was fully conscious." Wei paused for a drink, then continued, grinning. "Then Noriko came after me. With Grandfather's walking stick, if you can imagine."

The scene he spoke of sounded so comical that Rottenina nearly choked as she sipped her tea. It was difficult to picture Noriko driving anyone off with a stick, no matter what they had done to Izark.

They were silent for a time. Finally Wei said, more seriously, "I'd like to thank you for not mentioning what happened earlier. You're probably the first person I've met who didn't bring it up straight off. May I ask why?" He'd been looking into his cup, but met her eyes as he questioned her.

Rottenina shrugged. "I'm a seer," she said. "When I'm working, I see all kinds of people. Some women prefer to dress like men. Some men prefer to dress like women. I'm sure you have you're reasons, and though I don't know what they are, I'm sure they are good ones." Realizing what she was saying, the young woman blushed.

Wei grinned sheepishly into his tea. It was exactly the frank answer he had never expected to hear, and he was glad he had prompted it. "It's not that I like tricking people. I just got sick of them looking sideways at me. Either they can't choose between my face and my clothes, or they assume I'm a––well, either a tomboy or––or a wanton. It's less complicated when they have no reason to doubt my––_femininity_." The bashful grin changed to a feline smile. "And if anyone tries to take advantage of _that_… well, they get what they deserve."

"Ah." That was all Rottenina said for some time. Having lived with Gaya, Miss Zena's twin sister, she knew how much attention people paid to a fifty-six year old woman who wore the trappings of a swordsman, and that most of that attention was disapproving. She could imagine such condemnation multiplied three fold when applied to someone easily mistaken for an attractive young female. Finally, she asked, "Why haven't you told Danjel this?"

"He never asked."

"Neither did I."

"True, but you said the right things."

III III III III III

About the time Danjel had sent Wei to change, Tachiki Daisuke, in conversation with Gaya, remarked offhandedly that it was implied she had known Izark the longest of anyone present. Gaya chuckled, being fully aware of why Noriko's father might introduce that particular topic.

"It's true. I met Izark six years ago, when he signed on to the same caravan I was working for. I was a cook. When I realized he had talent and might need the skill, I offered to teach him swordsmanship." The swordswoman's grin widened as she said, "Actually, I had to use extortion to make him agree. I've never seen anyone so reluctant to take free lessons in defense. He finally accepted them when I gave him two options: he could either let me teach him to use a sword, or he could say farewell to peace and privacy." The grin faded, to be replaced by a thoughtful look. "He said he was afraid of hurting people even when he didn't mean to. I understand a little better, now that I know what he is." By now her expression was sober indeed. "It's sad, to think that Izark grew up believing himself to be the monster people said he would become."

Daisuke, watching the subject of their conversation, saw the young man's eyes flicker to them for an instant, then hurriedly away and back to where Noriko was now interrogating her aunt. When he spoke, his speech was slow and careful. "Is––good looking––not counting what else."

It was a safe comment. Still, Gaya burst out laughing.

"Everyone says that," she gasped finally, "except Izark." This time the mirth in her face didn't diminish. "And it always reminds me of going through northern Zago with the caravan." There was something about this polite, intelligent little man that spoke of inexhaustible vigor and inquisitiveness to match. It made Gaya want to tell him the stories she knew, despite her knowing the use he was, at that very moment, putting them to. She knew he would remember and value the things she related because he was a narrator himself. "The roads in the mountains of Zago are rough. We got stuck a few times, waiting for them to be mended or because the weather was too bad for travel. We stayed in towns when we could. When that happened, Izark did his best to disappear, but even his best wasn't enough. Sooner or later, the girls would congregate wherever he was, giggling and whispering. As you said, he's a handsome boy. None of us could help teasing him about it. Once I mentioned that some of the last bunch had been rather pretty. 'Looks have nothing to do with anything,' he said. Then he ran." Gaya was still smiling, but there was a trace of sorrow in the expression. "I can't decide if he was talking about the girls' looks or his own."

Still with his eyes on his daughter's significant other, Daisuke's arching brows arched higher. "[Interesting]" he mused. After a pause he asked, "But ––he always talk like old man? I no think Noriko put up with that," and started Gaya laughing again.

III III III III III

It was late before Chiyako was finished telling her niece of all that had occurred in the last four years. As everyone else went in search of their beds, Noriko went in search of Izark, who had finally had enough of leaning against the wall and sweating under Daisuke's assessing glances. She found him, as she had known she would, in the garden. His head was thrown back as he stared at the sky, resting all his weight on one leg. Together they stood silently in the starlight: the sable-haired warrior and the young woman with oriental eyes, watching the stars and listening to the wind as it rushed through the alley ways of Selena Guzena. Both knew there were light spirits up there, shining just as brightly as the 'real' celestial bodies they mimicked. There were spirits of darkness, too, in the black void separating bright spots. Some were lost forever, blind to the presence that the stars reflected. Others dragged themselves through the emptiness, taking the long, winding path out of the shadow dimension and into the world of harmony and light.

It was Noriko who finally broke the stillness. She reached up and, with one hand on his cheek, guided Izark's eyes down until they looked into hers. "How are you doing?"

The girl watched as the blank mask slid gradually away to reveal a strained smile. Izark's broad shoulders relaxed slightly; his eyes lost some of the opacity they acquired when their owner was being closed.

"It seems your aunt had much to tell you." He knew she didn't really expect an answer. Even when Chiyako had claimed most of her attention, Noriko had maintained her link with Izark. She was aware of his–– condition, whatever that might be called.

The young woman nodded, not taking her eyes from his face. "Chiya-san likes to talk. Alef was very quiet tonight."

"Unusually quiet, you mean." The last part of Izark's tension dissolved, and he gave a real smile, one of true and affectionate humor. "I think he was trying to give me emotional support. It makes one hope he might finally have given up the circus idea."

Noriko nodded again, thoughtfully. Her fingers remained on his temple as she said, "Otou-san can be a bit––" She paused. _Overwhelming_ wasn't the proper word. _Intense_ wasn't right, either. "Nii-chan––my brother, Jinta––asked me to apologize to you for him. Rontarna seems to have developed a fetish for the guitar, and Jinta got caught up in teaching him to pick out 'Violet Leaf'," she explained, naming the simple but popular folk tune inspired by the famed Trees of Morning Steam. "He said he'd like to talk to you tomorrow, if you had time." She gave him a critical look. "Izark, I know you have a hard time sleeping, but try and get some rest." _You'll need it. Social gatherings tire you out._

Before she turned to go, Izark took both of Noriko's hands in his and kissed her forehead. "I'm alright," he tried to assure her. Then, speaking just louder than necessary, he said, "I just don't like being watched."

As Noriko walked back to the house, the young man in the garden lifted his eyes to the second story window. Whoever had been there had heard him, and gotten the message. _Good_. He had intended them to.

Izark stood for a while longer, deep in thought. It was a fortunate thing, he concluded, that Zena had arranged for the men and women to sleep in separate rooms. Normally he shared a room with Noriko, and that was perfectly innocent, but Izark could see how doing so might make her family uncomfortable. There was a certain small technicality about their relationship which has thus far been neglected, and which had, apparently, slipped the minds of everyone accept Izark, Daisuke, and Yuri.

Izark and Noriko weren't married. She didn't seem to mark it. He hadn't wanted to tie her down, in case she changed her mind––though that was quickly changing, much to his chagrin––, or to impose upon the wishes of such obviously loving parents. It hadn't occurred to him that presenting one's self to possible in-laws (from another world, no less) might be a tricky business.

Izark and Noriko weren't married. Yet.

_At least, _Izark admitted privately as he closed the back door, _that's what I keep telling myself._

III III III III III

On her way up to the attic room she would be sharing with Rottenina, Anita and Katarina, Noriko passed Yuri on the stairs. _What was Mama doing up here? _she wondered as she continued to climb. _She's sharing Gaya's room with Chiya-san, Akane-chan, and Niana. Gaya's room is on the ground floor._

xxxxx

Concerning Noriko's use of the word 'mama': At first, I had Noriko refer to her mother as 'Oka-san', the formal Japanese term for 'mother'. I liked the context, but the language just didn't suit Noriko's personality. Then, a few months back, I bought a Japanese Dictionary, and looked up 'mom'––except there was no entry for 'mom', so I tried 'mama'. Lo and behold, the Japanese use the exact same word. I think it's a transplant from English. Sadly, I am now struggling with terms of address for the rest of Noriko's family.

One of the problems with free online Japanese dictionaries and the Random House addition is that they do not cover modern and familiar terms of address. If anyone has any suggestions concerning the way in which Noriko refers to her family members, please let me know.

~ Muse


	4. Morning

Yep. BlueTrillium beta-read this chapter, too. Thanks.

Chapter 4: Morning

It was two bells past dawn when Jinta, having searched the house before thinking to consult Noriko, tracked Izark to the garden pavilion. He found the quiet warrior seated cross-legged on the floor therein with his eyes closed, his hands resting on his knees. His countenance was far more tranquil than Jinta had yet seen it. Not wanting to disturb such serenity, Noriko's brother began to retrace his steps, moving as silently as he was able.

"Noriko mentioned that you wished to discuss something with me."

Slightly disconcerted by the soft remark which was decidedly _not _a question, Jinta spun to meet an intent gaze the color of––what? Too dark to be blue or green, or even brown, but definitely not the flat black of yesterday. "I didn't mean to interrupt," he apologized.

Izark shook his head. "It's all right. Sometimes I lose my clarity, my center. I can find it again if I stop, concentrate on one thing at a time," he said as he rocked to his feet and stood, head cocked to the side, taking stock of this person whom he knew only as Noriko's older brother. It was strange to look into a man's face and see the shades of his sweetheart, whose looks had been completely unique until now. Here was Noriko's yellow-tan complexion; her very brown eyes with their rounded inner corners sweeping into gentle outer points; the unusual fold of her eyelids. Even the nose was similar. Here was her fine brown hair right down to the way her bangs fell over her forehead, albeit much shorter than Noriko's was at present. Izark guessed that it had been even shorter four months ago; the longest layer barely brushed the young man's shoulders.

_I'm thinking about it wrong, _the warrior realized. _Noriko looks like her brother, not the other way around. And they both got that from their parents. _He took a moment to process this thought, still watching this complete stranger whose face was so familiar.

Feeling as if he was under a microscope (and it didn't help that Izark had to look _down_), Jinta searched for a topic of discussion. "We call it 'meditation', in Japan."

He was surprised when the corner of Izark's mouth twitched. The quirky grimace spreading over the warrior's face was the first truly human expression Noriko's brother had seen there. Somehow, he hadn't thought the warrior's features could be bent into such an expression.

"I'll stop," Izark chuckled, raising one hand in a gesture of apology. "I should know better. I hate it when people size me up."

Recalling a stiff, reticent figure slumped against the wall the previous night––and that this figure had been the object of a prolonged examination on the part of his father––Jinta winced mentally in pity for the object_._ "Otou-san forgets that it's rude to stare."

"Hmmm…" _Does he, now._ Realizing that they might be off topic, Izark repeated his original comment. "You had something to discuss with me."

"Well," Jinta began, knowing full well that he had only wanted to evaluate his little sister's significant other. "I don't think we've been properly introduced."

Izark blinked. It was true. After the scene at the door yesterday, formal introductions had apparently been forgotten. "Then my name is Izark Kia Tarj," he said, using the traditional phrase, and held out a hand.

Grasping it firmly, Jinta replied in the same mode, "My name is Tachiki Jinta, Izark."

Izark nodded, releasing his grip. "So, do I pass inspection?"

Apprehended, Jinta grinned. "That depends, but I think the odds are in your favor."

"There you are!" Both Jinta and Izark looked toward the house at Banadam, who had just poked his head out the door. "Come inside, both of you, before Wei eats your share of the food!" So saying, the young guard withdrew to save his own breakfast.

"He means it, too," Izark said, rolling his eyes. "I don't think I've ever seen anything eat like Wei." As they entered the house, he corrected himself, betraying nothing but serious consideration. "Well, except for a swarm of six-eyed insects. Maybe." With that, Izark made his way to the dining room and a seat by Noriko, leaving Jinta to recover from a laughing fit.

IV IV IV IV IV

Breakfast was a simple affair styled after a typical morning meal in Zago. Shimatoku Akane did not care for the flat, fried cheese curds she had learned to call _lopark_. She did, however, appreciate the hot _amall_ grain and _tyre_ nut cereal commonly served with them. After eating the fried cheese as fast as she could, the little girl settled down to enjoy the sweet, steaming porridge as the adults around her talked of serious matters. Swinging her feet, Akane let the sounds wash over her. Each voice was different, with a unique personality behind it.

Lori son of Arikowa had an odd voice. As a guardsman in Aibisk, he had adopted a barking roar to deal with troublemakers, a category that too often included his own men. Perhaps that was what had ruined his speaking voice. Presently it was hoarse and uninflected, as if any change in timbre was slightly painful. She had been listening to the voice alone, but now Akane began to hear the words. He was speaking in Midland, the main language of this strange world, with all its soft consonants and slow, rolling vowels.

"To be honest," Lori was saying, "I was a little troubled on our way through the city by the number of people carrying swords. Most of them weren't soldiers, and I know there aren't any wars going on in Guzena. What is it, Gaya? Why do ordinary tradesmen feel they need to be armed?"

Gaya's big, mobile features bore a sober frown as she finished chewing. "It sounds as if you've already guessed, but we've had some trouble recently. Izark and Noriko will remember what a mess we had on our hands two years ago, trying to clean up the corrupt administration."

At this, Izark looked up from his plate. Akane sat forward a little. _He is the one Mommy called Noriko's special friend. What does he sound like?_

"Are the former ministers _still _howling about that?" Izark said, quiet incredulity in every syllable. His voice was lighter than Akane expected it to be; deep, but soft. She had thought it might be rough and misused sounding, like Lori's. Rather, it seemed just…disused.

Zena looked at him unhappily. "Yes, but that's not the problem. The trouble is that some of those ministers' policies left behind some issues outside the government's range of direct influence, especially in the Willohamker Body."

"[Noriko, what's _willohamker_?]" Akane mouthed across the table. Izark saw her and smiled despite himself.

"[Executive]," Noriko mouthed back in Japanese. "[Police]."

"Selena Guzena has had problems with organized crime for a long time, but lately things have gotten much worse," Gaya continued, picking up where her sister left off. "Turns out that our officials were bribing the gang chiefs to play nice. Now that the officials have lost their salaries––"

"––And their control of the taxes," Glocia murmured.

Gaya nodded. "And their control of the taxes, the robber barons are making up for lost income. It's not happening all over the city, but constables in the Market and Cerise Districts have their hands full these days. Kidnappings have increased in the last year or so, and robberies are too common now to suggest coincidence. Beatings, murders, black market trafficking, you name it. The gangs that are doing it appear to be selective about recruiting, too…" The aging shield maiden trailed off, grim lines about her mouth.

"You mean peace keepers are getting hurt; killed," Alef said, thinking out loud, "and people are either reluctant to fill such dangerous positions, or they have conflicting loyalties."

"And of course you've had to rebuild all your units after kicking out the bad eggs," Chiyako commented, earning several surprised glances from those who were unfamiliar with her.

"But there _is _someone managing it, isn't there? Don't you have someone competent in charge, who knows how to set things right, given resources and time?" Duke Jeida had a deep, resonant voice. Akane had often noticed how nice it was. It was strange to her that such a warm, honest voice could have been shouted down by combativeness and anger.

The cloud over Gaya's face dispersed a little. "You and your family, Jeida, and you, Alef, might know him. Have you heard of Jul Hirza Aevin?"

There was a collective exclamation from the Zago quarter.

"You mean Captain Jul of the Royal Guard?" Being the oldest, Rontarna had had the most to do with the family guards at the time.

"What, the guy who put fear into the pages when he caught them sneaking food?" That was Koriki, frowning in concentration.

Alef was laughing. "So, old Glakenrang's out of retirement, eh?" Catching Glocia's puzzled glance, he explained, "Remember the old man with a patch on his eye? No? You wanted to know why he always wore an _enrang_ on duty, no matter what, remember? Yes, him. He retired the year after I joined, but in the time I knew him, he had such a temper as to warrant a nickname among us young rascals."

Akane turned to Noriko, only to find the young woman's attention elsewhere.

Then something odd happened. Izark glanced over and smiled. As if on cue, Noriko turned to look at Izark, then followed his gaze across the table to the little girl staring at her expectantly. Without being asked, she whispered, "[Hammerhelm]."

"Jul!" Niana's saccharine voice cut across Akane's wonder at this incident. "Oh, how is he doing?"

"He's the new Guard Sergeant for Market district." Gaya continued. "How is he, you ask? As usual, I believe, and the only word I can think of to describe that is _cantankerous_, but he's in his element. He's been with us for a month, and he's already transformed the bunch of clowns known as the Market Guard into something real. The only difficulty is that there just aren't enough people willing to risk their necks to deal with the current situation."

"But of course, Sergeant Jul is trying to fix that," Katarina said, her tone one of assumption.

It was Rottenina who answered the Gray Bird as she entered from the kitchen with Anita. "The Market Guard holds an athletic trial for applicants once every ten days at their district's station. ("Always was one for interviews, old Hammerhelm," Alef chuckled) In fact, there's one this afternoon. That's about all that they can do, though."

"But hold on," interjected Banadam, putting down his utensils and looking very seriously at Gaya. "If it's so well known that the guards are hiring, the thief lords must be aware that a larger peace-keeping force won't do them any good. And, if you ask me, an open trial doesn't sound like something a few tough punks couldn't sabotage."

"That's true," agreed Danjel. "At best, they might discourage real applicants. At worst, they might get a position and subvert operations. On the other hand, it could give this Sergeant Jul the opportunity to scope out criminals as well as hopefuls."

"Gaya." Izark's voice was very soft, yet everyone at the table looked his way, even Wei, who hadn't stopped eating since he sat down. "Has anything happened to applicants who were accepted?"

Noriko glanced at Izark. She knew that speculative tone, and she didn't particularly like it.

"Actually, a few of the more promising ones have been attacked in their homes," Gaya replied solemnly.

Daisuke––Oji-san to Akane––murmured, "[Bell the cat...]" Then, as clearly and precisely he could, he said, "Sound––_sounds––_ like they need bell cat."

Gray Birds, citizens of Zago and Guzena, and Akane looked at Noriko as the Japanese adults chuckled; they were accustomed to the storyteller's tendency of quoting obscure tales.

"Otou-san is referring to a very old European fable," giggled Noriko, " 'Belling the Cat' tells about how a group of mice once made a plan to tie a bell around the neck of a clever cat so they could always know when she was coming." Her smile faded as she explained, "The lesson of this story is that it is easier to make plans than to follow through with them." Akane could see that she was still watching Izark from the corner of her eye.

The black-haired warrior stood. "Jeida, may I borrow Alef for the day?"

Akane saw her girl-cousin wince.

Duke Jeida was nodding. "I take it you are going to see Jul?"

Izark didn't answer, looking at Alef instead. "Do you think this Jul will recognize you?"

Alef rose from his seat, grinning. "I haven't changed much in ten years."

"Good." Izark looked at Wei, who was at last dividing his attention between his companions and his plate. "Be ready to go in case we can use you. We'll need your stealth." Without waiting for a reply, he turned and left the room, Alef sauntering after.

IV IV IV IV IV

Catching up with Izark on the stairs, Alef half joked, "You could explain what I'm supposed to do, and why."

Izark smirked. "Two can play the game those gangs have set up," he said. "I'll explain as we go. Now help me get ready."

The plan would take a day, if not two, to set in motion. Sorting through his belongings, Izark ignored the little voice in his head that accused him emphatically of procrastination; of avoiding Noriko's parents and a certain topic which he knew must inevitably be discussed. _No_, he thought firmly. He knew better than anyone how easily an unsettled atmosphere in Guzena could affect the rest of the world. Besides, with what could he possibly recommend himself that would compensate for the dangers that still lay at every turn? He could not go with them if they took her back. How could he convince them to let Noriko stay with him––assuming that she consented––if he did not do everything he could for her security now?

IV IV IV IV IV

Back in the dining room, Akane heard a sigh escape Noriko. It was a very troubling sound coming from her normally cheerful cousin.

_Izark, be careful._

_I will, Noriko. _

xxxxx

Author's Note: Yes––I know it is a little difficult to follow with everyone in one place. Please, just bear with me. It will get less complicated––Hopefully. Thank you for reading! Please review!

~Muse


	5. A Discerning Eye

Author's Note: Finally! Schools out, and I'm recovering from a severe case of academe induced writer's block.

That's what I would have said when I first tried to publish this chapter. I recently downloaded this story for proofreading, since reviews seem to have dropped suddenly. Lo and behold, the entirety of what should have been the 5th chapter (the 4th chapter, if you were to refer to the prologue as chapter 0) was missing. I put this down to my stubborn refusal to follow FFN's numbering system. Having addressed this error, let us continue Izark and Noriko's first day back in Selena Guzena, shall we?

Thanks to BlueTrillium, for once again taking the time to beta read my work––er, play.

xxxxx

Chapter 5: A Discerning Eye

_I'm too old for this._ So thought Jul Hirza Aevin, Guard Sergeant of Market District in Selena Guzena, royal capital of Guzena. The wizened ex-soldier looked up from the stack of files in his hands and glared moodily out of his good right eye, surveying the small gathering of hopefuls waiting in the dusty garrison training yard.

What the eye saw was not reassuring. Of the ten people in Jul's view, fully half were on record for crimes committed within this city alone. These were plants, hoodlums sent by the gang bosses to observe and sabotage the Sergeant's attempts to raise a decent guard. Their pictures––done by a sketch artist surreptitiously posted near the admittance desk––were in their files, and matched descriptions from previous investigations. Impatiently, the old man shifted five applications to the back of the pile, then took a closer look at the remaining five candidates.

Two he rejected as drunks; he could smell the sharp odor of booze from where he stood several paces upwind, and he didn't need two eyes to see the vacant expression in theirs. _Kess Olesia Hadath, former Army Convoy Guard; Godana Ramnorna Haas, Dock Worker: both out._

Now _here_ was a likely looking man, middle aged and well built, down on his luck if the condition of his clothes was any indication. _Estus Rana Ingmar, eh? It says here that he was a farmer. Perhaps, perhaps. Let's see how he fights; study his character. _Though he hated to admit it, Jul could not afford to be too picky.

There was a slender youth, tall for his age and, like many youngsters his height, slouching. Rich, tawny-brown skin didn't quite match his unruly fair locks and extraordinary amber eyes. The child had good lines––_if he'd just fix that __posture––_and Jul could tell by the way those golden eyes moved that he was alert to his surroundings. But he was just that: a child, thirteen years old at best. _Ashre__ of the Tazasina Kilahb. I'll be sending that one home to his clan._

Here was another man, one with a rabid look to him that Jul didn't like one bit. It wasn't this candidate's intimidating stature or his sharp, predatory face. It was the way he stood with every muscle flexed, ready to snap to the attack. This fellow's eyes ranged, too, but furtively, as if from under those long, limp bangs he was watching for anyone who dared get close enough for him to bite. _Orne Maninka Berhos, student to Hankad Inga Tyoshanal and Former Private Guard to Lord Nada de Zago. Well, well. One of Lord Bug's gladiators, hm?_

_Now what have we here?_

He had overlooked one résumé. Far to the left, beyond the one-eyed man's field of vision, there stood a young man. On the tall end of average height, his figure was sparse but defined. Broad shoulders put him in his early twenties. Unlike the Kilahb boy, this black-haired youth stood gracefully, back straight with one hand resting on his sword's hilt. Jul took inventory:

A long sword in its scabbard, left hip. A sword belt and shoulder strap of black leather, stark against a light tunic which, while very appropriate for the weather that day and excellently tailored, would provide no padding whatsoever. Under the belt was a wide sash, dyed an exotic shade of red. Black traveling shoes, well-worn but of the finest quality, wrapped to mid-calf over dark trousers. Dark cloth gauntlets. Jewelry, lots of it; he wore his money. If there were knives, they were well hidden.

_A swordsman, confident enough to forgo protective gear and walk around advertising his wealth. _Assuming that the young man under all that gold was not an out and out fool, the whole ensemble _screamed _mercenary. _And not just a foot soldier. This one's assassin grade. _But surely no experienced fighter, _especially _such a young one, could have escaped his years of training with a profile like _that. _

At that moment, the black-haired man turned his head to look squarely at his observer. Jul had the distinct impression that this was no coincidence. _He knew all along that I was watching, and is deliberately telling me so. Why? To warn me off?_

Unperturbed, the old man continued to stare, meeting what could be interpreted as a challenge. He did not expect to see the corners of the swordsman's mouth tilt up ever so slightly, forming what may have been a smile. The dark eyes flickered momentarily to the file in the sergeant's hands, then back to his face. In the next instant, the smile disappeared. The swordsman looked away.

Quickly, Jul checked the application. Yes, here was the sketch, as accurate as the rest. _Izark Kia Tarj. Former Private Mercenary to the Cities of Calco and Ennamarna... various merchants_… As he read down the list, the grizzled guard's eye widened– _the Family de Gilenee of Zago _–and widened– _Zena Il Pisca,ActingState Seer of Guzena_; _Dr. Clairgeeta, Former Chief Cabinet Secretary of Aibisk_. His jaw fell open. That made a total of three titled employers, two being individuals whom Jul knew would have needed highly professional guardians within the last few years. There were also four letters of recommendation, two written by a hand that Jul recognized immediately. But no, Alef had written only one recommendation. The other paper was a note to the sergeant that had been made to look like a reference. It read:

_My Dear Former Captain,_

_Absolutely do not make a scene over this. Izark is here to lend you a hand, but he can do this best if you don't give him any more special treatment than his talents deserve. Just act like you mean to hire him. Trust me__––__ this man is an army of one._

Then, in a flourishing signature, _Alef de Elazard, Chief Commander of His Grace's Royal Guard, _followed by the Grand Duke Jeida's personal seal.

The message began with 'Absolutely do not make a scene over this.' The former captain addressed schooled his features into nonchalance, then turned toward the recruits and growled, "Hand over your weapons and pair up. We'll see how you do with short staffs."

V V V V V

Rottenina scowled. It was incredible how a few stubborn spots could ruin the effect of an otherwise pristine glass mirror.

Pausing for the moment, the young seer turned to look over the rest of the filthy room.

When they had returned to Selena Guzena two years ago, Zena, her assistants, and Gaya had found the house in ruins; the doors and windows smashed in by looters. The passing seasons had blown in street dirt and rain, so that layers of mud and mold covered everything. The furniture was either stolen or destroyed.

The thieves had missed this room, partly due to a stroke of brilliance on Anita's part; partly due to the stupidity of your average criminal. Before leaving, Zena's assistants had done their best to hide those of their mistress' most valuable possessions that could not be taken with them. All of the other rooms had later been thoroughly ransacked, but Anita had been clever enough to hang one particularly unmarketable old tapestry over the door to this, the most important of chambers. By sheer luck, no one had realized that the small high windows on the second floor opened to a hidden compartment.

Even so, two years had found Zena's workroom and all its contents coated in dust and mildew. Still, its condition was far better than that of the rest of the house, and since Miss Zena had access to fortunetelling instruments at the palace, the girls had agreed to concentrate on making the living quarters fit for humans before setting the workroom to rights.

Gazing around her, Rottenina could remember the first time she had stood here. Mirrors of every make had shone, promising answers to every question. Basins of stone, glass, and metal had begged to be filled from the vials lining the shelves; globes and crystals had sparkled with the same potential that the young girl saw in the mirrors.

Now two-thirds of the mirrors had yet to be freed from their two years' worth of grime. Many of the seals on the scum covered potion bottles were cracked; the liquids inside turned murky and useless. Spheres and bowls stood on tables and shelves, blanketed in dust like everything else. Something small and bewhiskered had made off with a good deal of the stuffing in the upholstery, while insects had eaten through most of the rugs.

Even so, the room still held that magic aura, that sense of potential. Perhaps that was why Rottenina had chosen, somewhat illogically, to clean the mirrors first of all. Once that was done, she would have Anita assist her in the removal of the ruined furnishings and potions. The vials could be emptied and refilled. All the instruments would be taken down and cleaned. All the surfaces––the ceiling, walls, shelves, and floor––would be scrubbed and repainted. By then the rugs would have been trimmed down or replaced; the furniture reupholstered.

The mirrors would confirm that future.

_But it won't be a near future, _she thought, _if I don't get to it_. Briskly, the girl shook out her dusting cloth and moved to the next mirror down the wall.

Noriko peeked through the doorway.

"May I help?" The older girl's tone was a touch too bright.

Rottenina nodded, indicating her basket of supplies. "Certainly, and thank you. What is everyone else doing?"

"Oh, plenty of things. You know that Banadam left with Master Jeida and the rest to go to the palace––well, except for Alef; he went with Izark to see Sergeant Jul. Auntie Gaya is showing Ojii-san around the garden. Otou-san seems to have shut himself away in the library with my translations. Katarina is in the courtyard with Chiya-san; did _you_ know Auntie's been teaching her _sword fighting?_ I think Akane's in the kitchen with Anita. Danjel and Dr. Clairgeeta took Jinta to see the market; I think Lori went with them; and Wei––"

"Is here." The young man entered with a comic, yet still somehow elegant, bow. "I'm housebound until further notice. Set me to work."

Rottenina smiled at him, and pointed to a small table cluttered with dusty objects. "See that big crystal? Take that to the kitchen, and Anita will know what to do with it. Also, the boiling sand is in the standing cupboard. Bring back as much as you can."

Wei took the hint and left, looking just a bit disappointed.

"You were saying?" Rottenina prompted, but Noriko did not continue. Sensing that this was important, she tried again. It had not escaped her notice that Noriko had not mentioned her mother's present occupation. "And Yuri?"

Noriko blushed lightly. "Mama is probably looking for me," she answered honestly, apparently concentrating all her attention on the glass under her cloth.

Rottenina finished a small mirror and lifted it off the wall, pretending to inspect it for dust. In reality, she turned the glass in order to observe Noriko's profile. "You don't sound very happy about that," she commented gently.

"I––" Noriko stuttered, then rushed on, "I feel awkward. I feel as if I've changed too much, and I wonder if my family even recognizes me. I feel like I know them, even Akane, who was only five when I came here, but I'm not sure if they know _me_ anymore and––and I'm afraid Mama has some questions and I _just don't know_ how to answer."

Rottenina was silent, considering how she should respond to such an outburst. She watched for a moment as Noriko scrubbed at the tarnish on a silver mirror. _Questions she doesn't know how to answer?_ she wondered._ No, no, best stick to what you understand. Time… and change. I know change._ "My parents died when I was twelve, from the Blue Scar Plague."

This statement had the effect of making Noriko whirl around, a deeply sympathetic expression on her face.

"Since then," the young seer continued evenly, "I have often wondered, if they suddenly appeared again, what they would think of me. Would they be proud? Would they be disappointed that my ability as a seer did not prove stronger, making me fit for more than an 'assistant'? I will never know, but I can tell you this: all living things change. In that light, your family should be very happy that you've changed, Noriko. If they ask you questions, it means they want to know the person you are now. And I think," she added with a smile, "that some of them have done some changing of their own. What did Chiyako say last night?"

She was rewarded with a small smile as Noriko tallied yet another remark on her aunt's talkativeness. "Chiya-san finally left her husband. Divorced him, actually."

"Oh! Is that a good thing?"

"I think so. It was an arranged marriage," Noriko explained. "I'm glad, because her husband was not a good _person, _let alone a good _parent_," she said, never once referring to Chiyako's former husband as 'Oji-san'; Uncle.

"And she stayed with him for what, _ten years? _I should think"–

There was a polite cough from the door, and Rottenina stopped speaking. Wei looked to her for permission before bringing in the now shining crystal and a small parchment packet. "I asked Anita if there was any more than this, but she said no," he explained, holding up the envelope. "Oh my, you shouldn't make that face. It is not at all becoming."

His comment pertained to the grimace that pulled at the young seer's mouth and furrowed her brow. She sighed. "This is depressing."

"What?" chorused Noriko and Wei.

"This stuff is called boiling sand because of the way it bubbles when first mixed with water," Rottenina explained for Noriko's benefit. "It's a strong cleaning agent, but it's from far to the east, so imports only arrive every other month or so." She shook her head. "There is no telling when I'll be able to buy some more."

"So?" the Gray Bird questioned her. "What's so depressing about that? _Oh_," he groaned, realization dawning on his face.

"_What?_" Noriko insisted.

"It's depressing," Rottenina said slowly, "because I'm going to have to clean this entire room with just soap and water. You may be aware, but soap doesn't perform very well on glass. As you can see," she jerked her head at the mirrors, "we have quite a lot of very dirty glass."

Noriko's frown was puzzled. "Can't you just use vinegar?"

"Vinegar?"

"Well, you'd probably want to keep it away from the metal stuff, but a half and half mixture of vinegar and warm water is what Mama and I always used to wash windows and mirrors. It worked as well as anything we could have bought."

Wei looked at the seer. "I take it you did not know that trick?"

"I am an assistant seer first, then a housekeeper," came the prim retort. "Don't try to tell me you knew about it."

"I did not," the Gray Bird admitted, "but it's worth a try. Shall I go mix some up?"

"No, I'll do it," Noriko said quickly, and left the room at a trot.

It was Rottenina's turn to look perplexed. "Why was she in such a hurry?"

Wei shrugged, his face a study of innocence. "She probably didn't want me to try mixing it in a metal pan."

"And you would do that why?"

"She said to keep it away from metal, right?"

"Yes, well, some cleaners can corrode certain materials."

"They can also explode."

The dark-haired girl looked up at the young Gray Bird, startled. "And how would you know that?"

Again, that studied virtue. "When one pretends to be a housemaid, one makes the most exciting discoveries about flour."

xxxxx

Author's Note: If my reference to the Japanese divorce procedure is inaccurate, please let me know. Also, I am worried about inconsistencies, since I haven't updated for so long. Please review.

~ Muse


	6. The Trial

Credits: Which seems more appropriate than 'authors note'. Thanks to BlueTrillium for beta reading this chapter. I'm glad you like Jul (^_^).

xxxxx

Chapter 6: The Trial

The first round of bouts began as expected. Jul watched with distaste as the roughest of the 'applicants' quickly claimed the most likely looking recruits as partners. He had seen these types often enough to know how they functioned. They would be over-aggressive, particularly if their opponents had the makings of guards.

The old Sergeant's eye fell on the Kilahb youngster. He had to admit one thing: _This __Ashre__ kid can fight_. The minute his adversary ––a brawny fellow on record for robbery––began to press him, the child's posture corrected itself. Though clearly unused to fighting with a staff, the youth was adapting quickly. The burglar had yet to land a blow, while the Kilahb's movements were getting more complex.

As Jul had guessed, Estus the ex-farmer was no warrior. His tormentor was obviously aware of this by now, and was enjoying the poor man's humiliation. Estus, however, looked far from cowed. On the contrary, the Sergeant could almost see a rock hard stubbornness crystallizing behind the country man's eyes.

Briefly, the old man glanced back at the Kilahb. He could not have said what, but there was something strange about that kid. Was it the foreign complexion; the wide forehead and tapering chin? The scraggly, gloss-less straw-colored locks falling well below shoulder length? Or was it the oddly shaped short sword the child had produced from his sash when Jul ordered the recruits to surrender their weapons?

A yelp resounded in the yard. The wizened officer was not surprised to see the foe of Orne, the former gladiator, stumble back. Trained in blunt force combat, Orne had gone straight for the hands, rapping hard on sensitive joints. _Disarm first, subdue later. Smart. _Oddly, Orne did not seem to be enjoying his success. Rather, there was a grim sobriety in the once-gladiator's face. _So, strictly business, eh? We might get along after all._

Jul almost felt sorry for Izark's partner. The man could only be called a thug; one of those paid to intimidate and punish whomever his superiors chose. A hulk of a specimen, he towered over his current 'victim', but one could see realization dawning slowly in his brutish face––he was hopelessly outmatched. He was in no way prepared to deal with someone of Izark's caliber.

Drops of sweat flew as the thug brought down a desperate, shattering blow. The paving stones where the swordsman had stood an instant before cracked under the force of the strike. The man gaped at his staff, confused, then stiffened as the butt of Izark's weapon touched up under his jaw.

"You mustn't swing down like that," Jul heard the warrior remark, as if discussing the weather. "It leaves all your vital points wide open. Look, I could hit you here, or here, or…"

Jul was finding it hard not to gape just like the thug. _But he _was_ there. _It had looked like the brute's staff had split Izark's head. And yet there he stood, only just to the left, casually using his staff to prod his dumbfounded would-be attacker.

It was at that moment that Orne's opponent lost his temper. Jul's head snapped around as the man roared a curse. The gangster's staff lay on the ground; Orne had succeeded in knocking it out of his hands. In its place, a knife––a throwing iron––had appeared. Orne made the mistake of stepping back when he saw the blade. Seeing his advantage, the gangster took a throwing stance and loosed his missile.

Jul felt a breeze, and suddenly Izark was back in his field of view; the knife plucked from the air and held benignly in his hand. The Sergeant could hear groans coming from his left; whatever had happened, the big thug was on his back in the dust. Meanwhile, the knife thrower had returned to his senses and was staring at the swordsman in horror.

_I should be doing something. But what? Ah, that's right. _Guard Sergeant Jul took a breath and roared, "Kenwan! Sigurad!"

Two of the guards stationed unobtrusively around the training yard leapt forward, grabbing hold of the offender's arms. They had, like the others, dropped into fighting positions when they saw the knife. Izark's intervention had confused them, and they had been waiting for Jul's command.

The Sergeant stalked over, stopping beside Izark to hold out his hand. Obediently, the warrior relinquished the knife. Jul turned and walked up to the knife thrower, presenting him with his instrument.

"Young man," the old commander addressed him in a slow, gravelly rumble, dangling the blade in front of his nose. "What would you call this thing?"

Held captive, the knife thrower––_Brander Milika Durk, a so called doorman at the Roc's Egg__––_had decided to play dim. "A knife, sir."

"And what is a knife, my lad?"

"Why, it's a knife, sir. Just a plain, ordinary––"

"Not the way you just used it. You used this fine utensil as an iron, a weapon. And what did I say at the beginning of this trial concerning weapons?"

"That we was––That we was to hand them over, sir, but I didn' think––"

"That a mere knife would count? Well, it didn't, until you tried to stick Orne there with it. Jail him," the old man growled to his men, jerking a thumb backward at the garrison building. An idea was whispering in his mind. "Search him, jail him, and have the rest searched. If you find anything deserving attention, confiscate it and detain the person you found it on."

"Define anything, sir." That was Sigurad, an officer and senior guard, speaking quietly. Jul knew that he was not above using any kind of evidence he could get to bring down a criminal.

"Items that were reported stolen," the old Sergeant returned in kind. "Injuries that match those that crime witnesses have reported dealing. Tools, like this knife, that have been linked to accusations which could never be proven." Jul grinned savagely at Brander, whose eyes had widened considerably at the last statement. "Thought I didn't know about that, lad? Oh, no, I make it a point to read all accounts, past and present, and I don't give up until I catch the real culprit. Line up on that wall!" he roared to the other recruits. "I want all your belongings in full view, and if you're carrying weapons, this is your last chance!" He turned back to Sigurad and Kenwan. "This lad here has given us the perfect excuse. Don't any of you waste this opportunity."

The two guards grinned at him, hard toothy smiles like those of predators on a scent trail.

VI VI VI VI VI

_Noriko._

Anita was somewhat disconcerted when, in the middle of asking for vinegar and water, Noriko's eyes lost focus and she stopped talking.

_Yes, Izark?_

_Please tell Wei to meet Alef at the Market District Guard Station by the next bell. Things are moving faster than we expected._

_What happened?_

_Nothing __serious––the Sergeant__ just found a good excuse to search all the applicants. He'll be giving half of us the boot, maybe more, so it speeds up the process a bit._

_I'll tell Wei, but can you stay with me until I do? I want to make sure I tell it right._

_Of course. _Then, _You're going up the stairs, aren't you? What is that in your hands?_

_Oh! I forgot about that! It's a bowl. Rottenina and Wei and I are cleaning Auntie Zena's workroom. I was supposed to get vinegar and water to clean the glass, but oh well. I can get it after Wei goes, and then I won't have to worry about him trying one of his experiments._

She knew that Izark shook his head. _That guy._

_Here we are. "Wei, Izark wants you to meet Alef at the guard station by the next bell." Is that all?_

_Yes. Tell him that Alef will explain what must be done. Thank you._

_You'll all be coming back tonight, won't you?_

_Yes. It might take some doing, getting back without being followed, but we'll mana__––_he was cut off as his concentration broke.

_Izark? Izark?_ Noriko sighed.

"What happened? You can't hear him anymore?" That was Wei, wiping his hands on a polishing cloth.

Noriko nodded. "Something distracted him. I think someone was shouting."

"But," Rottenina was frowning, trying to find the words to express her confusion. "But in Ennamarna, when you and Izark drove back those sand monsters… You said that you and he were one… that his power reached through you… That must have taken much more concentration than simply talking."

"It does," Noriko explained, "and that state of mind is very difficult to achieve. We have tried, but we haven't managed to do it again yet. I mean––" she paused, then shook her head. "It's hard to explain. There is a feeling that is _knowing, _and that knowing lets you… go outside yourself, into the world of light…Or inside yourself, it's the same thing, really…" She sighed again. "We've gotten close, but we can't seem to capture that _feeling._ I don't think it's something that happens by trying. Do you understand?"

Rottenina looked at Wei. Wei looked at Rottenina. It was clear that neither of them understood. Wei shrugged.

"No, but there's not enough time for you to explain it. Where's the garrison, again?"

Rottenina answered him. "Market District. It's the square building with the courtyard in the center. Tan stone––which reminds me! If you have time, check and see if there is any boiling sand for sale. Won't you?" She amended, smiling sweetly.

The Gray Bird smiled back. "If I have time." He left the room. Rottenina went back to work dusting the mirrors, but Noriko stood for a moment, processing this last exchange. Finally, she cleared her throat.

"I'll go get the vinegar water, then."

"…"

VI VI VI VI VI

Jul watched as the recruits, under the surveillance of twenty guards, placed their belongings in ten piles. Some, mostly those who seemed to be there looking for a job and not _because_ of their job, looked merely irked at the inconvenience. The remainder, mostly those already suspected of being plants, sweated more than the fair autumn day warranted.

Izark the warrior's pile was just two items: a little pouch containing coins and three curious cloth balls which gave off a strong scent of herbs, and a knife; a four inch dagger the like of which anyone would keep for everyday use. _He must have left his stuff at an inn. Or,_ the old man thought suddenly, _he might be staying with the Seer Zena. And I heard something about his Grace visiting the city…_

Ashre the Kilahb produced similar articles: a single edged bone knife, a neck pouch for money. Also in the youth's pile were several coils of slim strong cord, a wooden whistle, and a mysterious purse of dried meat scraps. Thinking back, Jul remembered seeing a sling and ammunition pouch next to the little saber the child had given up earlier.

Orne the ex-prize fighter had already parted with his everyday knife. The leather of his purse was stretched and sagging, as if it had lost quite a bit of weight. In his sash, he carried several wooden discs, tokens from arenas in various cities.

It was almost comical, watching the thugs. Two put down money pouches and nothing else. Three, hoping to evade suspicion, offered up two or even three fighting type knives. When Sigurad and his friend performed their manual search, they were all of them discovered to be carrying more concealed weapons. One of them had two purses that were clearly not his own, while another carried a bracelet that had been involved in a kidnapping threat not two days ago.

It was the ex-farmer, Estus, that surprised––no, shocked Jul. He would never have suspected that the level-looking man had been hiding a wicked looking dagger, several big coins, and a token stamped with the seal of Harsho, one of the thief lords; perhaps _the _Thief Lord of Guzena. These items surfaced when Sigurad searched the first of the gangsters, demonstrating his expertise in that office. The "ex-farmer" must have decided that it wasn't worth trying to hide them if they were going to be found anyway. A grim smile quickly replaced the dismay stealing over Jul's face. Trawling through the records, the Sergeant had seen that Harsho had never accepted bribes from government officials. While the activities of his organization were widespread, they were based largely on smuggling, and rarely violent. Estus was indeed an agent, but he was a passive agent, sent by his master to simply observe rather than hinder Jul's endeavors. Still, it was a humbling experience to be proved wrong about a person's character, one Jul did not enjoy in the least.

Both drunks were carrying canteens of liquor.

While the offenders were either escorted to the gate or hustled off to the garrison's jail cells, Jul had the chance to observe the five remaining recruits: Kess, Godana, Ashre, Orne, and Izark. The two drunks had sobered up a little during their mock fights, but were still intoxicated enough to see no harm in good-naturedly harassing Izark, who bore them with studied tolerance. The two others watched; Ashre with a kind of guarded awe left over from the warrior's midair knife catch, Orne with a perplexed frown. It seemed to Jul that the ex-prize fighter was more relaxed than he had been previously, as if his rescue from attack had eased some personal fear, allowing puzzlement to take its place.

Five recruits, total. Five, after weeks of promotion and trials, high hopes and let downs. _Five: a warrior, a gladiator, two drunks, and an infant. If I had a choice, I'd only hire the first two. But I _need _more men, _now. _At this point, I'll have to take whomever I can get._ He ground his teeth. _And I need to keep them safe, to boot. _

Jul cleared his throat, and the five turned to listen. "You may have noticed, but we are a bit short on acceptable applicants at the moment. Also, you may have heard why. With this in mind, I would like to compliment the courage you lads have shown in coming here today. I will now speak to each of you alone, to discuss employment. If any of you would prefer to stay at the Garrison tonight, you have merely to make a request and accommodations will be made for you. Izark Kia Tarj, if you please, follow me."

Gently, the warrior disentangled himself from Godana and Kess, then fell into step behind the Sergeant, slowing to match the old man's limping gait.

VI VI VI VI VI

Ordinarily, Jul would have led a recruit to a small office nearer the training yard, but this was far from an ordinary recruit, no matter how he wished to be presented. The Guard Sergeant of Market District led Izark to his own personal office, the one he kept under lock and key and with a secretary's open door where said desk worker could watch anyone who even glanced at the name plate. That said, the old man was thoroughly displeased to discover that the key ring he drew out was not needed; the door was unlocked. Scowling terribly, Jul checked the lock for signs of being forced, but found nothing. Still feeling uneasy, he opened the door and ushered Izark through, then closed it behind him.

The instant the latch clicked, the veteran soldier knew he had made a mistake. It was a classic blunder to enter a room that should have been locked without half expecting someone to be lying in wait. It was even stupider to close the door. A wrinkled hand flashed to the light club slung at his belt as the Sergeant turned to face any attackers.


	7. War Council

Credits: Many thanks to BlueTrillium, beta reader.

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Chapter 7: War Council

"No need for that, Sergeant Hammerhelm," Alef de Elazard chuckled, leaning casually against the desk.

"Alef!" the aged Sergeant snarled, relief giving way to exasperation. "You had better have a very good reason for this. When did you learn to pick a lock?"

"I didn't," the Chief Commander of Duke Jeida's Royal Guard replied, inclining his head toward the back wall where Wei was quickly switching his men's apparel for the brown shift. "You are so very thorough about your securities that I had to have Wei here sneak in so he could open the window for me."

The Sergeant glared at Wei, who had turned around. The young Gray Bird smiled innocently. "It was a very good lock, sir. The thief lords would have to hire a very good lock breaker to open it."

"Humph. And here I was hoping Alef was the only rascal I'd have to deal with." Jul stalked to his desk and, seating himself with dignity, frowned. "But how in the world did you even know I would come here? And how did you get up to that window? We're on the second floor––no, never mind. Just tell me what you're here for."

"I knew that after reading my note you would want to talk to Izark somewhere where no one could hear you." Apparently, Alef had chosen to ignore his mentor's negation of the first question. "Finding the interview room to be below this standard, I sought out your office."

"So you wormed your way into the interview room first, _then _broke in here," Jul growled sourly. Privately, he was barely succeeding in covering his wonder at these accomplishments, and the ex- royal guard was extremely glad that he knew Alef's loyalties. Both the slender man–– woman? … and Izark would have made extremely dangerous enemies, but he knew he could trust that anyone Alef allowed near the Duke's family would have been checked and double checked.

Abruptly, Izark spoke. "Only the four of us are close enough to hear anything we say. I would tell you if it were otherwise."

The old man's bushy eyebrow came up as he turned to Alef. "Is he psychic, as well?"

"Practically. Shall I explain why we are here, sir?"

"First you must introduce––this one," said the Sergeant, jabbing his thumb at Wei.

"This is Wei Iulia Akash, a Gray Bird Tribes_man _in the service of the Dr. Clairgeeta you will have heard about. He arrived yesterday with Izark and some others. May we get down to business?"

"Go on."

"Thank you. Jul, you need help." Alef did not make it a question, but a statement of fact. If he was hoping for some kind of response, he did not get it. After a pause, he went on laying down the hard truth. "Right now, you have just twenty-seven men filling three shifts, _when_ they are all healthy, and several of them are working through debilitating injuries. The twenty that are guarding the trial are volunteering their off hours. That means that at any given time, you have fewer than ten guards on the street for all of Market District when the current situation calls for twenty or even thirty for _every shift._" Again, Alef paused, inviting comment. "You're trying to gather the forty or so that you need, but every time you find someone who wants the job, they wind up with broken legs or ribs or heads, and all the while your guards are getting beaten up and killed and made examples of––"

"Damn it all, I know this!" the old man snarled, rising from his seat to pace despite his limp. "That should be clear, as you've obviously been reading _my documents_! I––" he stopped, fighting to get his voice under control. "I am aware, lad, but my options are limited. As it stands, the central government here is being of no help at all; they're too busy getting the nobles countrywide to cooperate to give any attention to the common folk in one little district. That's why they put me in charge; they're hoping I can hold the fort while they get organized. And I will. I'll hold the fort. I just wish I could do it without losing half my command in the process." He sat again, his wizened face looking older for his frustration.

"Gaya says you've only been here a month." Izark commented softly.

The old man nodded. "That is true."

"She implied that all the efficiency and professionalism I saw out there in the training yard is your doing."

A grunt. "Yes. It was I who re-assigned posts and shifts, demoted, promoted, and dismissed. It was I who scrapped the old training program and instituted the existing one. All this is of no account if I do not have enough guards to even defend _each other_, let alone the city."

"You need time to build up your ranks, and the gang bosses know it. So, you need a supplemental force." That was Wei, inspecting the various weapons hung on the walls.

"I already told you." Jul's voice was tired. "I have asked the central government for help––higher salaries to entice recruits; soldiers to keep peace while we recover. I have received nothing."

"And if a supplemental force were to volunteer?" asked Alef.

Izark looked up sharply. "I never said anything about volunteering."

The Duke's guard commander groaned. "Here it comes: the old woman penny pincher inside the dashing warrior, emerging only when Izark is asked a favor. What is he saving for, I wonder?" A wicked smile stole across Alef's face. "You know his Grace would be more than willing to give you a parish, so there's no sense in buying a house. Noriko and Glo––"

Izark cut him off, and Jul was interested to see a slight flush rising in the swordsman's chiseled features. "If you recall, Alef, I never collected on that last bonus I was supposed to receive for that stunt show in Stenny three years ago. Besides," he continued, catching Jul's eye and holding it, "it would be more effective if you hire me. I'll accept a regular recruit's salary," he informed the old man, "and with your permission, I will give you the time you need."

Jul sat forward, leaning on his desk. "Explain."

The warrior smirked, his brows slanting in a way that promised ill for whoever made him smile so coldly. "I wasn't toying with that big lug out there because I wanted to correct his form. He'll go straight to his boss to tell him that I need to be gotten rid of, and fast."

The Sergeant raised his lone eyebrow (he was doing that a lot today). It was true. "You were trying to scare them."

"And he succeeded." Wei did not turn around, but one could hear a sly grin in his words. "Soon every criminal in Selena Guzena will know about the mercenary that hired on to the Market District Guard."

"If so, then every gang boss in the city will be out for your blood." Jul directed his comment at Izark, his brow resettling into its accustomed scowl. "And you're happy about this?"

"Of course," the swordsman replied, slowly and evenly. "They will all be after _my _blood. And while they are all hunting _my _blood, you will have time to gather recruits and train them. Of course," he mused thoughtfully, "you may want to take some guards off street duty to watch the jail. They'll send their best after me, so anyone that I catch trying to kill me should be well guarded."

The Sergeant's eye narrowed. "What makes you so sure they will focus everything on you? What if they simply learn to avoid you?"

"In that case, they'll be so busy tiptoeing that they won't have time to harass your Guard. But I am confident that I know how they will react." Seeing that Jul still looked a little skeptical, Izark sought to convince him. "On my résumé, the cities of Calco and Ennamarna are listed as past employers. The bandits I brought down in Calco came after me because I beat their boss, and they were afraid I could make an end to them. In Ennamarna, I fought a man who had been hunting me for over a year just because I was the only person who had ever defeated him. The motivations were different; the actions were not. They'll come after me. They _always_ come after me." The humorless smirk was back on his face with the last words.

Jul thought. He did not like the idea of using anyone, even someone as seemingly invincible as Izark, as bait. However, his own words came back to him––his options were limited. Finally, he sighed.

"It's risky, but then so is all the work we do here at the Market District Guard Station. I'm willing to give it a try. However, it does not solve the problem of keeping our current recruits alive and well. I've offered every group that comes through, but no one wants to sleep at the Garrison until it's too late." He looked at Alef. "Got something to fix that?"

It was Alef's turn to pause, frowning thoughtfully. Abruptly, his eyes brightened with an idea, and he grinned. "Perhaps…"

VII VII VII VII VII

When Izark and Jul emerged from the building, it was to find the other recruits in various attitudes of boredom. The impromptu council had taken a full two bells, and the sun was well past its zenith. As the warrior took up his old position at the edge of the group, Jul called, "Orne Maninka Garhos."

The ex-prizefighter followed him out, casting an uneasy glance over his shoulder at Izark. By the time he returned, looking much relieved, Godana and Kess were back to hanging off the warrior's shoulders and talking about misfortune.

"Ashre of the Tazasina Kilahb."

Izark sensed Orne's approach and looked up. Unfortunately, the drunks noticed this and followed his eyes.

"Hey, hey! So'd ya get the job, or what?" Kess' voice was too loud.

"Go stick your head in a barrel, wino," was the curt reply. "You and your buddy both."

"Hey, watch your mouth!" Godana slurred. "You've no right to be rude! If you was in our position, you'd––"

"If I was in your position, I'd treat this guy with a bit more respect," Orne interrupted, nodding at Izark. "And I wouldn't come to a job lineup smelling like booze. Go entertain each other with your sorrows, and leave him be."

Godana's red face grew redder, and he seemed about to object. Fortunately, Kess was slightly less inebriated, and dragged his friend away.

Izark watched them go. "You could have done that more politely," he murmured.

Orne assumed a rest position, also watching the drunks cross the yard. "I could have, but that would have taken too long. Besides, they won't make it in this city if they don't sober up." He cleared his throat, uncomfortable. "Thank you for not mentioning to the Sergeant how you know me." _And thanks for saving my neck, I guess._

The warrior shrugged. "He probably already knows. He's a retired captain of Jeida's royal guards. If he hired you, it's because he thinks you've learned your lesson. If there are so many arenas to fight at, why do you want to be a guard?"

Izark could hear the sneer in Orne's reply. "There aren't. Prize-fighting is going out of fashion. More and more people are calling it barbaric. No one is coming to watch, so no one is betting, and if no one is betting, then no one is making any money, and if no one is making any money––"

"_I get it_."

"––then only maniacs choose to fight." The ex-gladiator looked down. "I need a real job. I could stay on at an arena if I trained to be an athlete, but there's no guarantee that I'd be any good. Fighting's what I know." He paused. "You think the kid will get hired?"

Again, Izark shrugged. "They're short of guards, especially in a time like this. I don't know his views on female warriors, but I'd say she has a fair chance."

"But he's just––_she?_"

"That's what I said; she, and I've never been wrong before. Ashre of the Tazasina Kilahb is a girl. A natural fighter, too. A friend of mine will be overjoyed to meet her." The warrior looked directly at Orne. "Where are you planning to stay tonight? It would be wise to stay at the station."

Though surprised by such an abrupt and personal question, the soon-to-be market guard answered, "I already paid for a room. No sense wasting my money."

"In that case, you are invited to supper at the Seer Zena's residence. Someone will meet you outside, to show you the way." Izark said this quietly. Seeing Orne's incredulous look, he added, "Hey. Free food."

Orne closed his mouth, considering. "I'll be there," he said finally.

"Good."

The remainder of the interviews lasted until late afternoon. Ashre came back wearing a look of satisfaction. The expressions of the drunks ranged between triumphant and irritated; they explained to all within earshot that they were hired on the condition that they must lodge at the garrison until Jul believed them responsible enough not to drink while on duty.

"My wife'll _kill_ me if I don' come home widout tellin' 'er why," Kess whined.

"Master Kess, I don't want to hear another word until you can say it without slurring," the by now very grouchy Sergeant snapped. "A messenger has already been sent to your homes, both yours and Master Godana's." To everyone, he said, "You will receive your training schedules and assignments tomorrow. Be here no later than third bell, or I'll rethink your wages." The old man stumped back into the building and was gone.

Exiting the gateway between the training yard and the street, Orne looked around for Izark but the warrior had vanished. The Kilahb boy––_girl_, he corrected himself––was gone as well.

"You are Orne?" queried a melodious voice near the man's shoulder. He jumped, and turned to meet the eyes of a tallish young woman with a pleasant face and a charming smile.

"Uh––that's right."

Wei nodded, still smiling. "I am an acquaintance of Izark. I'm to escort you to your lodgings."

VII VII VII VII VII

Ashre of the Tazasina Kilahb trotted briskly down the street, golden eyes peeled for the alley where she had stowed her belongings earlier. Finding it, she swerved, dodging a cart and earning a curse from the driver.

"Outta the way, brat!"

_Brat? Who's he talking to? In my clan, I'm an initiated adult, _the young warrioress thought somewhat bitterly as she scrounged in a pile of scrap lumber. Dragging out her pack, she looked up and down the alley. _Now, where'd Ronan get to? We need to be outside the city gates before dark._

A large hand gripped Ashre's shoulder. "Best not take that chance."

Instantly reaching for knife hilt, the fourteen-year-old barely managed to bite back a war cry as the soft deep voice continued, "Or haven't you heard what happens to prospective guards? No, best not wander around alone tonight." With that the assassin, for that is what the young traveler took Izark to be, steered Ashre out the other end of the alley. The clan-born girl felt panic rise, but forced it down; forced herself to think. _Why is this man__––Izark––here__? What does he want? How do I escape? Is escape even possible, from someone like him?_

Izark marched his new acquaintance forward, ignoring the waves of fear the teenager emitted as he adjusted his plans. He couldn't leave this kid by herself, not when he knew what it was to be attacked by grown men with swords when you were a green youth. _Besides, _he added, feeling sharp bones under his palm and remembering the hollows in the girl's triangular face, s_he could use a free meal._

Ashre had decided. She took a breath.

Izark heard the breath. He expected something, a retort or refusal of some sort, perhaps even a shout for help. Even so, he was taken aback by the pitch and loudness of the whistle that followed.

A large gray blur flashed passed them to plant itself firmly in the way, and the young man found himself confronted by the biggest, most savage looking dog he had ever seen.

The canine-like animal was at least ten hands tall at the shoulder, with thick dust-gray fur that only added to its imposing size. If Izark had not been concentrating on those wicked teeth, he might have been able to appreciate the handsome long legs with their matching black stockings; the deep athletic chest; the elegant dark ticked ruff and matching plumed tail. He did manage to notice a proud dark crest and small, shapely, black-edged ears, both aggressively erect and seeming almost to serve as accents for the long, nobly sloped muzzle. For just a moment, the man stared into the beast's face, fascinated by flame blue eyes set over a death grin snarl. Noriko had said that the Sky Demon's eyes were pale blue. Was that how he looked when he lost control? Feral? Menacing?

"Ronan, hold boy," he heard Ashre say, taking longer than usual to grasp her meaning due to the thick northern brogue with which she spoke.

"Friend of yours?" the warrior inquired with quickly recovered calm.

"Ronan is very well trained," the Kilahb girl responded, trying to put cool honesty in those words. "He will not bite until I release him, but if I ask him to, he will tear you apart. Let go of my shoulder." _If I scare him, maybe he'll let me go. But I don't want to have to use Ronan. This man could kill him with his bare hands. Hold Ronan, hold!_

Izark turned the girl around, placing his other hand on a second thin shoulder, and stooped to look the child full in the face.

"I am not your enemy," he stated straightly.

"No, you're mad," was the shaky reply. "There's a dog over there that will rip your guts out when I tell him to, and you still haven't let me go!" _Damn, I should have known a killer wouldn't be a coward._

The warrior's reaction could not have shocked the young northerner more.

Releasing Ashre's shoulders, the young man walked up to the snarling Ronan—who began to make a noise like several rockslides—and crouched down, his nose a foot away from the dog's and his eyes just lower.

An insane doubt crept into the Kilahb girl's thoughts then. What if this man was sincere? After all, he _had_ come to that man Orne's rescue in the training yard. Suddenly she feared that Ronan would forget the order to hold and savage the brave fool who placed his neck in such easy reach of those crushing jaws.

Ronan, however, was plainly as shocked as his mistress. Uncomfortable with having his eyes above a human's, the dog immediately backed up a pace and lowered his head. The corners of his mouth relaxed slightly as Izark spoke, his voice quiet and soothing, to both the beast and its keeper.

"An animal tamer once told me that dogs can smell ill intent," he said. "Ronan, was it? Well, Ronan, do I smell like a liar to you?"

"Enough." The Kilahb girl's heavily accented voice came from behind him, sounding less defensive but still thick with wariness. Perhaps following a hand signal, the huge gray dog sat back on his haunches and ceased to snarl. "What do you want?"

The man did not reply immediately, choosing instead to stand up slowly, apparently thinking through a pertinent reply.

"Nothing, really, but trust," Izark said finally, testing the wind to make sure that it did not carry his words to the lookout he sensed some way behind the youth.

"And what person in his right mind would trust a headhunter?"

"I am fully aware of my appearance, thank you very much," was the warrior's clipped retort. "Dressed as you are, I would have thought you knew that it's a false step to judge by appearances." He turned to face the Clan youngster. It had never occurred to Ashre that dark eyes could be so disconcerting. Then again, the warrior-girl had never seen such intense eyes––and that included her own–– nor been observed so fixedly.

_Except,_ she realized, _he's not looking at me._ He was looking past. Quickly she turned her head, and was rewarded with a flicker of movement around the corner of the alley.

_That settles it, _Ashre thought grimly. Mad or no, killer or no, the unreadable, imposing warrior was more predictable than shadow people. Looking back at him, the girl nodded ever so slightly. _I'll trust him. For now._

Izark returned the nod curtly and strode off, the Kilahb and the dog following.

VII VII VII VII VII

"[Ah. Found you.]"

Noriko looked around to find her mother standing in the doorway of the workroom. She glanced to the side. "[I was helping Rottenina. This is the last room they need to refurbish.]"

Yuri studied her daughter, then sighed. "[No. You were avoiding me. You skipped the noonday meal to avoid me. It's the same as after you didn't get into Meiyo Academy.]" When Noriko did not respond, she continued. "[Sweetheart, I haven't seen you for four years. Can we please spend some time together?]"

Silence met her request. Then, "[Of course we can. What would you like to do?]"

Yuri smiled, relieved. "[Meet your friends, I suppose. But I can help you finish this.]" She picked up a damp cloth hanging off the side of the basket, and sniffed it. "[They use vinegar and water here, too?]"

Noriko smiled shyly, but relaxed a bit. "[I don't know. They are out of boiling sand, which is what they usually use, so I suggested… what you taught me.]"

There was an ironic note in Yuri's voice as she responded, already busy with the mirror that her daughter would come to last, so that they could work toward each other. "[Well]," she said, "[At least that's _something_.]"

"[You also helped me learn to sew]," the young woman added. "[I'm learning to hand stitch. Katarina has been teaching me. It takes a lot of time when you don't have a sewing machine, but I remember some of that book you gave me in elementary school, the one about clothing construction, so mostly it's just a matter of practice.]"

"[You actually read that?]" Her mother giggled. "[I hadn't thought you did. What else?]"

"[The first aid training I got at day camp has been helpful,]" Noriko mused. "[So have Ojii-san's history lessons, in a way. I've never had to navigate on my own yet, but I think I remember what Otou-san taught Nii-chan and I when we went camping. And]"; it was her turn to giggle; "[I know how to shop. I still can't bargain like Izark, though.]"

"[About Dr. Clairgeeta's writings. Your father said you were translating them?]"

"[Yes. Dr. Clairgeeta taught me to read and write. Translating helped me to learn.]" Yuri could hear the smile in the young woman's voice. "[Being literate makes things easier.]" There was a thoughtful silence. "[Izark taught me how to drive a cart, and I can sort-of ride _aherne_.]"

"[_Aherne_?]" her mother repeated, then, "[Oh, those things you called horses in your diary. So, what else is Izark teaching you?]"

By now, Noriko had entirely forgotten her earlier worries. ["Lots! I mean, he helped me learn Midland, and now it feels like I've always spoken it. He taught me the customs, too, and the money system—though those are different from place to place. And he knows ever so much about medicinal herbs and living off the land. He lets me experiment when we cook together.]" In the reflection of the mirror, Noriko's mother saw her make a face. "[Some of it turns out pretty bad, but there's this one grain that cooks up just like rice, and there's a seed that tastes like ginger. Oh, and there's an herb called _kumrig_ that's like soy sauce if you mix the powdered root with water. And–]" She stopped talking abruptly.

"[And?]" Yuri asked, but the young woman did not respond.

Finally, Noriko turned and went to the door, explaining, "[I have to find Anita and Rottenina. Sorry, Mama.]"

"[Why, what for?]" The woman wanted to know, setting down her cloth and following her daughter down the stairs.

"[Izark says we're going to have guests. _More _guests.]" She glanced back at the doorway to Zena's workroom. "[I think we'll have to put _that _on hold for a little while.]"

xxxxx

Author's Note: I've decided to keep it at ten double spaced pages per chapter, give or take. Otherwise, I'm afraid I would end up rambling. Please review!

~Muse


	8. Dinner for How Many?

Author's note: I can hardly believe that it has been literally years since I began this story. I haven't even finished the second day! Ah, well...

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Chapter 8: Dinner for...?

Izark tested the wind, reading its movements to detect anyone who might be watching. Subtle vibrations pulsed from anything that moved, each tiny wave of energy carrying the tang of its spiritual alliance. Traces of heat or scent, the sound of a heartbeat or breathing; born on the wind, all these could betray a living body. He still did not have a clear idea of what he was sensing, though Noriko had begun trying to explain it a few years back. Her theory that Izark was able to sense and control air particles half-explained how he started fires without flint, boiled water on contact, and summoned the wind– he was still struggling to wrap his mind around the concept of the molecule.

The warrior spread his awareness on the twilight breeze, inspecting the alleys outside the back wall of Zena's garden for observers. He felt nothing. Just to be safe, he leaned out slightly to see over the edge of the gutter on which he perched. He saw no one. Lifting his hand, he motioned to Ashre, who was crouched a bit further from the edge of the steep roof. She edged forward, guiding Ronan with a firm grip in his thick mane. His tail clamped firmly between his back legs, the dog obeyed her pull, belly crawling down the roof. Though he whimpered piteously– by now, he knew what was coming– he did not struggle when Izark wrapped an arm around his trunk. The Kilahb girl took hold of the cloth at the warrior's shoulders, then nodded that she was ready. Putting his other arm back to steady her, Izark checked the street once more and leaped.

For the fifth time that day, Ashre felt her stomach swoop as they arced over the street, landing well inside the garden wall. The moment her feet touched the ground, the girl let go of the warrior's shirt and stumbled. Ronan wriggled, whining to be set down. "Are we done?" Ashre demanded, and then begged, "_Please _say yes."

Setting the dog back on his feet, the young man cocked an eyebrow at her. "Yes," he obliged. "Is it the height that upsets you?"

"Like my dog, I prefer to keep my feet on the ground," she replied flatly, taking in their surroundings. The garden was spacious, more so than the clan-born girl would have expected, being used to thinking of cities in terms of crowded markets and tenant houses crammed together against the street. _The people who live here are wealthy_, she realized. She glanced at Izark, remembering the watcher that had shadowed them until the black-haired warrior led them around a corner and onto the roofs. Why was he being so very careful to avoid followers? And if Izark had a rich patron, then why was he looking for a job with the Market Guard anyway? As of yet, nothing made sense.

The warrior was already at the back door of what Ashre suspected to be nothing less than a mansion. Realizing that she was supposed to follow, she started forward then stopped, feeling unsure. "Can Ronan come inside?" she asked. On one hand, she did not like the idea of being separated from her only sure ally until she knew what was what. On the other, the dogs bred by the Kilahb clan shed– a lot–, and she did not know how the owner of the house would react to the tufts of grey fuzz Ronan left where ever he went.

Izark shrugged as he pushed open the door. "It shouldn't be a problem. You've already said he's well trained. Come _on_," he ordered, his voice taking on an insistent, almost urgent note.

Teenager and dog followed him through the large house. Ashre had trouble keeping up as she tried to come to terms with the extravagance she saw. In her community, only the most prosperous merchants and tradesmen could afford to keep a house of any kind; the nomadic Kilahb never stayed long in one place. Yet here in this one house she had already spotted two staircases, a plain back stair and one that curved gracefully above the main hallway. Rooms they passed were large and well lit, the last of the day's sunlight sparkling through windows of both plain and colored glass panes. Wood and wicker paneling mixed elegantly with stone tile floors and fringed textiles. Empty corners were occupied by large, well tended plants and small, shapely trees.

It suddenly occurred to Ashre that she had yet to ask where they were, and why. She hoped she would like the answer, and that her mercenary guide told the truth. "Whose house is this? It can't be yours, no matter all the money you're wearing." She made her tone reproachful, masking her nervousness with disdain.

"The property belongs to Zena Il Pisca. She's the official Seer for the King of Guzena. She and her sister Gaya live here with two of Zena's aids, whom you will meet." He glanced over his shoulder, saw her expression, and sighed. "If you wish to know what that means for you, I expect it will be made apparent soon."

"Is there a reason you can't just explain it?"

"Namely, because I don't feel like"-

There was an almighty thump overhead. Izark blinked, then looked up, murmuring, "Here already? That was fast."

"_What? What _was fast?" Ashre demanded. Her temper was wearing thin.

"Wei– he's a friend– and that other recruit, Orne. They're on the roof." The young man seemed to contemplate this for a moment, then shrugged. "Eh, they can find their own way down. This way; let's get some introductions out of the way while we can."

_He makes it sound like I'm about to meet an entire clan, _Ashre thought, puzzled. _Just how many people does he expect me to greet? Wait a minute… _What were Orne and this Wei doing on the roof? Could Wei be like Izark? Did this Zena person collect assassins?

They were now in the utilities section of the house, where luxury gave way to functionality. Coils of clothes line, baskets, and herbs hung from hooks in a long, considerably narrower hallway; the stone of these floors was uncut slabs set in white mortar. A single door on the right was flung wide, and three voices flowed out with a wave of heat. _A kitchen, _Ashre knew from the smells and the temperature. Her belly growled. Ronan, who had followed silently at her heels the entire time, lifted his head. His nose flared; his ears pricked. Slowly, his plumed tail began to wave.

Two of the voices coming through the doorway were defined by the same unfamiliar accent. It was not the brogue of the northern countries, but resembled the quick paced speech of the southern islands.

"Noriko, please open the window. It was a… beautiful… a beautiful day, but it's very hot in here." A woman's voice, strangely devoid of stressed syllables and rather monotone. The words themselves were quick; the pauses between them were not.

"Sure, Mama. That's a good idea." This voice was younger and more musical, with a milder accent and more emphasis in the right places. The measure of her speech was much more even, though still rather swift.

"Yuri, here, try this, and tell me if it compares to your 'shoyu'." That one was another mature woman, tough sounding, with a tell tale twang that marked her as a member of the dissolved Gray Bird Tribe.

"There's another window across the hall, right?" The musical voice questioned. "Maybe we can start a cross bree– Izark!"

The warrior had reached the door. Ashre started at the cry, then stepped back as a young woman appeared from behind the door and grabbed the mercenary's hands as if they were hers to hold.

"When did you get back? And why didn't I know?" The young woman was asking, confusion misting rich brown eyes that almost matched her hair. Ashre tried to remember if she knew of an island tribe with eyes of that particular shape, or with golden hued skin. She did not think she did.

"Just now. We came over the back wall. I did try to tell you, but you were concentrating on something else. Ashre," Izark said, turning to include the clan girl, "this is Tachiki Noriko. Noriko, Ashre of the Tazasina Kilahb. She's one of the guests I told you about." He was smiling, almost grinning, and Ashre realized with a shock that it suited him remarkably well.

"Oh!" Noriko exclaimed and flushed, letting go of Izark's hands to bow. A long loose braid fell over her shoulder. "Pleased to meet you, Ashre." Straightening, she spotted Ronan sitting quietly at the Kilahb's heels. Eyes brightening, she half extended a hand, then paused. "Um, may I?"

Ronan looked up at his mistress. "Ronan, greet," Ashre said, flicking her hand in the permissive gesture, and tried not to smile as the massive dog gamboled puppy-like over to Noriko, unaware that he was almost certainly bigger than she was; his head was level with the young woman's chest.

Noriko, also, seemed oblivious to this as she let him smell her hands and face and rubbed him behind the ears. "He's beautiful," she said, giggling when Ronan gently washed her chin.

"He's so _big_!" squeaked the voice of a child. Ashre looked down to see a little girl of about ten years edging around Izark's leg. She too had an islander's accent and a strange ethnic appearance. Two other faces had appeared around the door, a lady of middle years whom Ashre knew _must _be immediate family to Noriko and a broad featured, homely woman with an aquiline nose, thick lips, and dense honey blond braids threaded profusely with gray.

"Ashre of the Tazasina Kilahb, meet Shimatoku Akane," Izark said, indicating the child, "Tachiki Yuri, and Gaya Il Pisca. Yuri is Noriko's mother, Akane her cousin. Gaya taught me swordplay. Her twin sister owns this house. Gaya, Ashre's just been taken on at the Market Garrison. Maybe you can give her some tips."

The Gray Bird woman's heavy face lit. "Really?" she bubbled, knocking Noriko into Izark as she tried to maneuver her big frame in the tight hall. "Oops! Sorry," she said. "Why don't we go into the kitchen to talk? There's more room."

Almost simultaneously, Noriko and Yuri gasped "The food!" and "Gaya, the sauce!" There was a mad jostling as Gaya plunged back around the door, her momentum thrusting Yuri in ahead of her. Hastily Izark hoisted Akane onto his shoulder as Ronan, who had been sitting quietly as she petted him, stood up and raced into the kitchen, clearly enjoying the excitement. Noriko squeezed herself under Izark's arm to avoid getting broadsided by the dog.

There was an abrupt silence, broken only by the bustling and the hiss of steam from the kitchen. Ashre, who had been standing far enough back to escape the tumult, could only stare, utterly nonplused. Catching sight of the Kilahb's baffled expression, Noriko giggled. Izark turned his head, saw what was funny, chuckled, then laughed, tightening his arm around the young woman. _His woman, _confirmed the part of Ashre's mind that was interested in such relationships while the rest of her brain scrabbled with the problem of what had just happened and just what kind of people she had gotten herself mixed up with. The familiar atmosphere emanating from the cozy kitchen was in complete contrast with the one she had expected.

Not knowing why Noriko-neechan and her "special friend" were laughing, but suddenly realizing what great fun it was to be perched on a tall man's shoulder, Akane whooped gleefully.

"Safe!" Gaya's voice blared through the doorway. "Why don't you all come in here? Izark and Ashra must be starving. I've heard Jul makes a point of not feeding new recruits to see how they last. Come on, Miss Ashra"-

"Ashre," the young Kilahb corrected automatically. Many people mispronounced the names of Kilahb women in this way; her clan did not make a point of giving girls names that ended in _a_. Similar to the Gray Birds, the Kilahb made relatively little distinction between gender roles.

"_Ashre_, then. Don't be shy. _No _one goes hungry in Gaya's kitchen. Come here and tell me what you think of my famous Balo and Game Stew. Speaking of which, I still need one of you Japanese ladies to tell me if this sauce tastes like 'shoyu'. Now what about that window?..." And so, a queen in her domain, the aging shield maiden settled her subjects into their roles as tasters and assistants.

The rest of the evening passed more smoothly, with the occasional minor eruption of chaos. The promise of nourishment finally coaxed Ashre into the kitchen where Gaya, Yuri, Noriko and Akane were cobbling together enough food to provide for an ever-expanding company. She sat in a nook by the hearth, inhaling small portions of whatever Gaya fed her and only half-following the chatter. Ronan multitasked, cracking bones under the table while lying on his side so Akane could scratch his belly. In fact, the only thing that the clan youngster found really odd about the whole situation was Izark's habit of announcing the arrival of certain persons as they came into the house, even though those in the kitchen only ever heard the faint sound of the front door. She noted that no one protested when the warrior commented that Sergeant Jul and Guardsman Sigurad had arrived with Danjel, Dr. Clairgeeta, Jinta, Lori, and Alef, whom they had _just happened _to meet in Market District. No one scoffed when he told them that they had joined Ojii-san in the main sitting room. And not a single pair of eyes rolled when he stated that Wei had led Orne to the same sitting room and then gone to help 'Zena's aids' get the extra bedding they would be needing out of storage, though for some reason Tachiki Noriko giggled at the last part.

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Noriko sighed as she finished chopping the last of a root vegetable that looked and cooked like a green, many pronged carrot. Pouring the pieces into a pot, she set it down on the counter near the wood fired range where Gaya stirred and tasted, spiced and shook a myriad of pots and saucepans. The warrior-cook-shop keeper beamed at her.

"I think this should be enough even for the thirty or so we expect, don't you? Go on. Supper won't be served until Duke Jeida and the rest get back, anyway. We'll get everyone to help set the places."

The young woman smiled, and turned around to look for Izark. He had gone and returned several times, always bringing back some small task– clothing to be mended, herbs to be sorted, leather to be cleaned and oiled– that could be accomplished while sitting in a corner and snacking on whatever Gaya wanted him to taste test. Now he supported a naked sword on his legs as he ran a cloth saturated with grease along first one flat, then the other, making sure he got into the center grooves on each side.

Sprawled over a snoozing Ronan under the table, little Akane watched him with fascination. Noriko could recall hearing her cousin asking Izark at least one question about every new task– the material of the thread, the use of a root, the purpose of various straps and bindings. It was about time for the next question.

As predicted, Akane inquired, "Why didn't you sharpen it before you cleaned it? Aren't you supposed to run a … a stone thing along the edge?"

Izark's reply was as patient as ever. "If it was dull, then yes, I'd have sharpened it with a _whet stone_. I haven't used this sword since the last time it was sharpened though, so the edge is still keen." He slid the blade back into its sheath. "Too much sharpening just shortens the life of the blade. All it needed was a bit of oil so it won't rust." He stuffed the rag he'd been using into the grease crock and pushed in the cork. Setting the small pot aside, he looked up at Noriko. "What now?"

"Auntie says to rest." She leaned against the table for a moment, a bit reluctant to say what she knew she ought. "We… should probably go to the sitting room." Yuri had left some time ago to drag her husband out of the library. Chiyako and Katarina were still at the city baths and the palace group had yet to return, but everyone else was gathering to discuss the events of the day and plan for tomorrow.

The swordsman grimaced, but stood up. Following his example, Ashre got to her feet, still holding a small bowl of stew meat that had been marinated in the juice of a tangy fruit called a balo. The Kilahb girl felt she would have been perfectly content to lounge around the kitchen accepting tidbits from the Gray Bird woman called Gaya, but also realized that doing so would not help her figure out what was going on. Suddenly awake, Ronan scrabbled out from under the table with Akane still on his back. He did not seem to notice when the nine-year-old righted herself to straddle his shoulders, clinging to his ruff with both hands.

Bidding Gaya good-bye, they filed out the door. Seeing Akane riding the dog, Noriko tapped Ashre on the shoulder. "Is that alright?" she enquired, and pointed.

The Kilahb girl shrugged. "Sure. He does it all the time, at home."_ Home, _she thought suddenly, feeling strangely forlorn. _If things had gone right, I could have been back by now. Jamnz and Chska will have to ride on Belun's travois. I used to hate having to do that. _She could almost see her little brothers, pouting as they bumped along on the pole frame dragged by Belun, the family's aging male dog. Though still bigger and stronger than Ronan, the frosty coated alpha could not suffer to be ridden by one squirming little boy, much less two.

Izark resisted the urge to cringe as they approached the tumult of auras that issued from the living room. _Jul and one of his officers, Alef, Dr. Clairgeeta, and Lori. Danjel and his grandchildren– no, just Wei. That's right, Katarina took Chiyako to the city baths. Noriko's parents and brother. Orne. Anita and Rottenina. _He did not enjoy the idea of having to mingle until supper, but then this was the price of having many friends and allies. It wasn't as if he disliked these people, but… Noriko's hand brushed past his. The glance she gave him was full of the same reluctance he felt. An idea came to him as they crossed the threshold, an image that he immediately flung out to span the distance between their minds. Though she was already moving away from him and toward her mother and father, Noriko paused for a second, looked back, and smiled. As always, it seemed to Izark that her whole face glowed.

Straightening his shoulders, the young man took a breath, prepared to wade into the gathering– then remembered he had a courtesy to perform. Turning his head, he found Ashre directly behind him on his right, golden eyes wide in a dark face frozen from shock. _Perhaps she thought Gaya was joking about having thirty people. _With an inward sigh, Izark began another, much longer round of introductions.

"Do you see the old men sitting in the center? The one on the left is Danjel, a former Gray Bird Tribesman. The other is Jin, Noriko's grandfather and Yuri's father. You must call him Ojii-san, though I doubt that you'll ever have to talk to him; he doesn't speak Midland. That man reading is Tachiki Daisuke, Noriko's father, and the one with Akane and Ronan is her brother Tachiki Jinta." Indeed, Jinta was practically lying on the floor playing with the dog and child. "The ones sitting by the wall are Dr. Clairgeeta of Aibisk, Lori Arikowa, and Wei. Wei is Danjel's grandson. See, there's Orne Maninka Berhos. And that one is Alef. Come on; I need to talk to him, so I'll introduce you in the process. Ah, Alef de Elazard, allow me to present Ashre of the Tazasina…"

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Author's Note: I would like to insist that readers review this story, no matter how good or bad they find it. Since you got to the bottom of this story, one may assume that you have read it. Thank you. Again, please review.

~Muse


	9. In Which Complications Ensue

Author's Note: For Katherine, the reviewer who wanted to know about 'Belling the Cat'. To 'bell the cat' is a reference to the fable by Aesop (the reputed author of 'The Tortoise and the Hare' and countless other moral tales), in which a group of mice call a meeting to decide how to deal with the terrorizing cat. The story goes that a young mouse finally suggests that a bell be fastened around the cat's neck, so that the mice will always know when she is coming. All the mice think this is a good plan until one old mouse gets up to say: "This plan is a good one, but who will bell the cat?"

According to _The Aesop for Children, _illustrated by Milo Winter, the lesson of this fable is '_It is one thing to say that something should be done, but quite a different matter to do it.' _

In modern usage, 'to bell the cat' mostly means the acceptance of personal risk for the good of the many.

The difference between abbreviated modern usage and the old lesson creates an interesting dynamic. On the one hand, the 'mouse' that bells the 'cat' has done an extremely brave and selfless thing. On the _other _hand, very few people are willing to risk life and limb for the sake of others.

In short, "Who will bell the cat?" equals "Easier said than done_._"

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Chapter 9: In Which Complications Ensue

The chatter paused when a door banged open and crashed shut. An instant later, Glocia de Gilenee stormed past the sitting room entrance and up the stairs in full court dress.

Izark turned to Alef, who had once again taken up his position as the taciturn warrior's social custodian. "What was that about?"

The commander of the Duke's Royal Guards was staring after the young lady. "I have no idea, but Miss Glocia–" He winced as another door slammed overhead. "–is furious." He shook his head. "I don't care what she's upset about; that isn't how a Grand Duchess elect should behave."

Izark glanced sharply at the commander. "Glocia is Jeida's heir?"

"That's right. Unlike Guzena, Zago has no laws forbidding inheritance by women, and his Grace feels that she has the right qualities to succeed to his post." Alef sighed. "It's not that I don't agree with him, it's just that she's not exactly the most level-headed. His Grace is a born diplomat. She is not."

"You worry about her."

"That _has _been my job description for over a decade," Alef quipped. He looked to the doorway as Rotarna and Koriki shuffled in, glum-faced. "Young masters, what's amiss with the young mistress?"

"Alef," Rotarna greeted the guard, rubbing his forehead with the back of his hand. "You know how it is– how it's been since Father was reinstated."

"Yes, but what is it specifically this time?" Alef insisted, glancing up at the ceiling. "I haven't seen her in this state since…" Again, he shook his head. "She nearly broke two doors just now. What happened?"

"Princess Alehandra." Duke Jeida entered, looking drained. "It would appear that His Majesty's oldest daughter has taken to our Glocia. Her Highness has been quite insistent– and her father supports her argument– that my family and I would do better to take up residence in the Palace for the remainder of our visit." His shoulders rose and fell in what would have been called a shrug in a less aristocratic man. "It _would _solve a number of inconveniences."

Alef raised both eyebrows. "Forgive me, Your Grace, but that explanation makes no sense. It was only a matter of time before you received a royal invitation– or even a summons– to live in the Palace. As mistress of His Majesty's household, it is the first princess' responsibility to extend such an invitation; as _our _young mistress well knows. And I have one better: Glocia knows it is _her_ responsibility to facilitate diplomacy between Zago and Guzena by accepting the invitation. I find it unlikely that this tantrum is from reluctance to do her duty."

"Unless the duty in question involves parties, pleasantries, and staying out of the politics," Jeida corrected, "which is exactly what Her Highness expects her to do."

It was Izark's turn to lift his eyebrows. "But Glocia only goes to parties _for_ the politics."

"Well," Alef sighed, "I suppose _that _makes sense." Just then, his eyes happened to fall on Ashre, who had stood just behind Izark through the entire conversation. The young teenager's cat-like gaze was fixed on Jeida, and her expression said that she could hardly believe what she was seeing. The guard smiled, then said, "But we have been neglecting _our_ duty, Izark." When the warrior looked at him questioningly, he indicated the Kilahb with a nod. The girl didn't seem to notice, intent as she was on the Duke.

"Uh– Yes." Izark moved to the side, giving Ashre and Jeida a proper view of each other. "Grand Duke Jeida de Gilenee of Zago, this is Ashre of the Tazasina Kilahb. Ashre of the Tazasina Kilahb, His Grace Jeida de Gilenee."

It seemed that the sound of her name shook the girl out of her stupor, for she started and, clasping her left fist in her right hand, placed them over her solar plexus and bowed deeply in the tradition of the Kilahb. She did not relinquish this position until she heard Jeida clear his throat.

"Yes, well…" the Duke coughed again, unsure how to respond to this unexpected display of respect. Finally he settled for a similar gesture. When Ashre lifted her head, the Zago nobleman bowed in return.

Unfortunately, this only seemed to increase the clan-girl's awe of him, so that she retreated to hide behind Izark again. The swordsman spared her a quizzical glance, but something else claimed his attention almost immediately. Noriko approached their group, hands outstretched to greet the Duke. The nobleman accepted them, smiling as warmly at her as he would a favorite niece.

"Just the young lady I was hoping to speak with," Jeida said. He sent an amiably nod toward Daisuke and Yuri, who had followed their daughter. "I'm afraid my family and I will not be allowed to enjoy Miss Zena's hospitality–" he acknowledged the Seer, moving aside as she and Niana entered behind him, "or the company of our friends here–" he nodded to the rest of the group gathering around them "–for as long as we would have liked."

Noriko smiled in return, but there was a worry line between her eyes. "Your Grace, um… Glocia…"

The Duke sighed. "She's angry, with reason. Will you please talk to her? Coax her down if you can? You have always been able to appeal to her common sense. We need to discuss this, so that we can prepare a compromise if possible. I do not think it at all appropriate that my heir be left out of the diplomatic proceedings because Her Highness requires a companion. Please tell her that."

The young woman nodded and left the room, heading for the stairs. Izark watched her go, then looked at Niana, Gilenee's lady. "You will be staying at the Palace?"

The short, stocky noblewoman smiled up at the young man, cheerful despite weariness from a day spent acting the genteel ambassador's wife. "It's the most practical thing to do," she told him brightly. "It's not really reasonable for us to be always coming and going like we've been doing these past few days, especially when Zena and Gaya have so many other guests to take care of. Apparently there are going to be some festivities at the Palace soon, and it would be easier on everyone if we were to live at the Palace and visit here, instead of the other way around." She glanced nervously at the ceiling. "Glocia is upset, of course. She's been frustrated these past two years, dealing with… 'Ladies who talk of nothing but lace and courtiers who never think past their own consequence', I think she said." Niana shook her head, concern for her daughter leaching into her smile. "She is learning what my husband learned, only earlier, and harder I suppose. She is expected to be pleasant and entertaining, when all she wants to do is make them see how important it is that they pay attention to the world outside their castles."

Izark's mouth had twitched at the quote. That _did _sound like Glocia. His expression clouded as he thought about the rest. The swordsman knew that the Grand Duke's only daughter was a passionate girl, with a huge sense of duty to her family and her people. It must have thoroughly galled her to arrive in Selena Guzena fully prepared to take part in the political negotiations, only to be relegated to the position of the Princess' new pet.

As Izark thought, the group surrounding Jeida moved away from the door and spread more evenly across the room. Everyone except Ashre, who rounded on him the minute the others were out of earshot.

"You could have warned me!" she fairly hissed, her thick accent making her sound even more vehement. Then, _"How did you know?"_

The warrior scowled at the young Kilahb. He was tired of sidestepping questions, but wasn't sure how much information he should volunteer. It didn't help that he had no idea what Ashre was talking about at the moment. Confusion made him more defensive than usual. "Know what? What should I have warned you about? You made Jeida nervous just now, bowing like that when you've only just been introduced. He does not expect to be treated like an idol. Not in this house, anyway."

Ashre stared at him. "Jeida? _Jeida? _You call the Lord of Gilenee, Grand Duke of Zago, the _savior _of the Grey Bird Tribe, by his _first name?_"

"I prefer not to use titles if I can avoid it," Izark replied with a shrug, leaning back against the doorframe. "They're too much of a mouthful, and they tend to impart influence where none is due. If it makes you feel better, I call him _Duke_ Jeida in public, as he is one of the few nobles that I truly respect. So?"

"So what?"

"So, I have answered your question; I want you to answer mine. What is it that you think I know? What is it about Jeida that made you bend yourself in two when he would have been perfectly satisfied with a handshake?"

"If you don't know, then why bring me here?"

"Know _what?_" the warrior demanded, exasperated, then sighed. "I brought you here to keep you out of harm's way, because Jul– the _Sergeant?–_ needs all the guards he can hire to deal with the mess in Market District. However, someone has been making a profit from the mess, and the last thing they want is a return to order. They're putting guards out of action as fast as Jul can hire them. _Now answer my question._"

The Kilahb nibbled her lip, considering what he had said. "So you really don't know."

Izark bit back a sarcastic retort. He liked a breakdown in communications no more than the next person. "I know that the Kilahb of Tazasina have been second class citizens since the invasion by the Torakhan Empire six-hundred years ago. While most cultures in Tazasina and the other west coast countries were eventually subdued, the Clan refused to assimilate, and were punished by the invaders."

"You know Tazasina's history. That is not commonly known, even in Mirka-yitht," the Clan girl acknowledged, impressed. "Most people don't even remember that there _was _an invasion." Her tone had turned sour. "Clan-Father says that the invaders had all the records of the old times destroyed and replaced with lies."

"I was born on the south border, near the Shore." Izark offered, naming the mountain range that served as the northern 'coast' of the Sea of Trees. "It is much more difficult to silence storytellers and their students than it is to burn scrolls. They tell the histories as they were told by others who were told by others, all the way back to the survivors of the invasion. Their version is rather different from the records in the capital." He fell silent for a moment, turning over an idea that had just come to him. "You called Jeida the savior of the Grey Birds. That is true; his mediation prevented a massacre when the Western countries wanted to wipe out the Tribe. As a minority, the position of the Grey Birds is somewhat similar to that of the Tazasina Kilahb. Am I getting warm?" he asked.

Ashre opened her mouth to respond, but was interrupted by the swish of the curtain hung over the entrance behind them. A girl of eighteen or nineteen with reddish blond hair and crystalline blue eyes entered. She was followed by another young woman, this one black-haired with dark brown eyes. They were dressed in some kind of uniform– identical ankle length tunics under short cropped jackets with matching hairstyles.

"Anita and Rottenina," Izark murmured for Ashre's benefit. "Zena's aides."

The blue-eyed girl, Anita, was speaking. "Miss Zena, Duke Jeida, everyone," she addressed the gathering, "Supper is ready. Please come to the dining room."

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A little earlier, Noriko stood at the door to the upstairs bedroom Glocia shared with Zena and Gaya. The younger women had tried to work it out so that all five– Anita, Rottenina, Katarina, Glocia, and Noriko– could sleep in Anita and Rottenina's room. It had proved just a bit too crowded, and in the end Glocia had decided that she could forgo pillow fights and giggle-fests for the personal space promised by Zena's larger chamber.

Noriko rapped tactfully on the doorframe, then waited.

"Come in." Her noble friend's voice sounded tight.

Carefully, the Japanese girl went in, closing the door softly behind her. "Auntie Gaya will have supper ready soon. Aren't you hungry?"

Glocia sat at a vanity table, glowering at her reflection in the mirror. Half a head taller than Noriko and thin with her father's angular shoulders, she was dressed to impress in a perfectly tailored vermilion over robe embroidered with winged dinosaurs in the geometric patterns preferred in Zago. A creamy orange under dress– made from fabric so light and fluttery that its sheer, billowing ruffles seemed to waft around her throat, wrists, and feet– softened the sharp lines of the robe. Her glossy black hair was gathered into a net that winked with tiny cabochons of the gem Noriko thought of as tiger's-eye. A small tear-drop of the same stone hung at the center of Glocia's forehead between her regally arched brows (also from Jeida); another, larger cabochon topped the headband to which the hairnet was attached. Smaller teardrops shimmered at her ears. Her large, long lashed eyes had been lined with black, and her lips were stained a deep, dark red.

The effect was stunning and intimidating. This, Noriko knew, was exactly what Glocia had wanted when they had picked out her clothes together that morning. The twenty-one year old Grand Duchess elect was an image of haughty elegance and radiant authority.

At the moment, her expression was even fiercer than her attire.

"No," Glocia told Noriko through clenched teeth, in response to her question. "No, I'm angry. And disappointed. And so, _so _frustrated." Her knuckles shown white in the folds of her skirt.

Noriko could find no appropriate answer to this comment. It occurred to her that there was no appropriate answer; that conversation was not the best way here. Instead, she stood back and waited for the fury that had been simmering under Glocia's skin all day long to boil over. She didn't have to wait long.

"This is hopeless!" the other girl finally shouted, bringing her fist down on the table so hard that the items on it jumped. "Useless! How am I supposed to learn anything about international relations or treaties or _anything_ while I am stuck exchanging pleasantries with _Princess Alehandra? _Do you know what she said about the negotiations? She said,'_We are above these vulgar dealings.'_ How can she not realize that it's that kind of thinking that allowed the council of ministers to do whatever they wanted for so many years? Does she even know what is happening in her own capital right now? How _is_ it that _nobility– royalty– _can have such ridiculous notions about their own responsibilities as leaders? Do they truly believe that they are entitled to palaces and castles simply because their families are landed? That their sole purpose in life is to attend banquets and balls and _grace the court? _That they can simply _shut out _all the unpleasantness because it doesn't directly affect _them? _You don't find that kind of idiocy in the _'lower' _classes!"

The young noblewoman took a deep breath and opened her mouth, as if to continue. Instead, she let the breath out. When she spoke again, her voice was calmer. "No, that is not entirely true. There are plenty of rich merchants' brats who believe that they are entitled to everything without working for it. The only difference is in the amount of time they can sustain those illusions before their funds run out." She heaved a sigh and turned on the stool to face Noriko. "The only way to accomplish anything with people like that is to humor them. I keep telling myself that I _am _learning, just not what I had planned. I tell myself it's practice for keeping my temper in negotiations. Even so, I cannot imagine spending another whole day making small talk with Her Highness, not when I'm supposed to be learning how to govern. I almost burst into tears today, Noriko. She must have spent an hour complimenting my clothes, then another moaning about how it was a pity that I hadn't brought a dancing dress. I wanted to tell her that I wasn't there to dance; that all I wanted to do was to sit in on the negotiations, except that would have been rude. A diplomat may be oily, underhanded, and two-faced, but he or she must never, ever be rude, particularly not to royals. Even if a royal takes no interest whatsoever in the practical side of their status, they can still make everybody's lives miserable if they think you've insulted them." She grimaced. "I'm sorry. I'll stop ranting now."

Noriko smiled at her friend, sympathy in her eyes. She did not relieve her feelings by raging and railing, but she could remember having considered it a few times. "It's alright. Do you feel better? Do you think you can come down and eat?"

"In a little." Glocia looked down at her clothes. "Will you help me change out of this? It would have been appropriate for the proceedings, but a friendly dinner…" She shook her head. Anger had been replaced with dejection and embarrassment.

"Duke Jeida doesn't like it either." Noriko was already opening the trunk that held the young noblewoman's things. "The whole companion to the princess thing." Deftly she selected one of the simple, plain outfits. The cut resembled something the young noblewoman had worn in exile. It was a high-necked overdress in a soft russet color. The sleeveless raglan armholes cut diagonally to the neck band and would not restrict Glocia's strong shoulders as the tailored robe certainly must. A loose fitting petticoat went under it and a shell pink sash wrapped around the waist. "He's hoping you can work out some kind of compromise."

"Mmm…" Glocia responded, carefully working herself free of the embroidered robe, taking care not to tear the perfect seams or stretch the costly threads. After draping that carefully on the single large bed, she unbuttoned the floating under dress and discarded that with less ceremony, flinging it over the decorated headboard. "I don't think there'll be any changing the princess' mind about our moving to the palace, but maybe she'll be content to let me go to the meetings as long as I attend the entertainments she sets up around them." Noriko helped her into the petticoat, then worked on the bottom buttons as Glocia did up the bodice. "We'll see. Her Highness seems to believe– and many nobles agree with her– that affairs of state are beneath her. And of course there is one other problem: aside from Miss Zena, there are no female officials in Selena Guzena. Unlike in Zago, Guzena law and custom actually forbid women from taking leadership positions. Seers are the only exception to that rule." Next came the over dress. Glocia started to pull that on over her head, then reconsidered– she'd forgotten her headdress, which she now removed. Dragging the russet dress on, she spoke to her friend through the cloth. It made it easier to say what she was about to say. "I'm sorry for venting at you. I can't do it in front of Father– he gets as frustrated as me, but he never yells about it. Mother wouldn't understand; she never dwells on anything long enough to get angry with it; and my brothers don't see that there _is _no satisfactory solution, which is why I'm ranting in the first place. But you already know that, don't you?" She got her arms through the armholes and shrugged the dress on, then buttoned the neck band. She smiled at her friend and accepted the pink sash Noriko was holding out. "Thanks for letting me yell. I'll be down soon."

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Author's Note: So, there are probably some people thinking things like, 'Get on with it!' or 'So when does tomorrow start?' Well, here's my answer:

I don't know. ('^_^,)

However, I _do_ know where the story is going, and I _will _finish it. So thank you, dear readers.

~Muse

P.S. Concerning Glocia's rant. Cut it? Keep it? Or, put it someplace else? Please review.


	10. Day's End

Author's Note: Happy belated Labor Day! Finally, I've managed to make this chapter work.

I'm starting to think seriously about finding a beta. Spelling and grammar are not an issue, though constructive criticism is always appreciated. What I need is a style critic, one who has read and enjoyed From Far Away.

Anyhow:

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Chapter 10: Day's End

The snuffing of the lights found Ashre hunkering down with Ronan on the floor of the room she was to share with Gaya, Zena, and—wonder of wonders—the Grand Duke Jeida's heir, Glocia. The cot that the two seer's assistants and the youth called Wei had prepared for the Clan-girl was bliss compared to the hard, cold ground and its grudging mattress of wet leaves and grass.

She was safe and comfortable. For the first time in a month, her belly was not growling at her. She was exhausted. With all these factors, Ashre really should have been able to fall asleep as quickly as her three roommates, but her mind was too full of impressions and revelations to call it quits just then. Images of the evening meal raced behind her eyelids.

_The seating arrangement was from an agoraphobic's (person with a fear of crowds) nightmare. Though more chairs had been brought in from somewhere, there just weren't enough places at the table itself to accommodate everyone. It was difficult to see how twenty-nine diners would fit around a table designed for twelve._

_Ashre was astounded to see the Lady Niana, finding the places to the left and right of her husband filled by their sons, plop herself down on the Grand Duke's lap. Far from looking incensed at this impropriety, the nobleman laughed._

_The gathering compressed as others followed Niana's example. Noriko's mother, Yuri, poked her husband Daisuke and spoke to him in their island tongue until he shifted in his seat, allowing his wife to wedge herself into the right side of his chair without once looking up from the manuscript in his hands. Akane bounced up onto the lap of a beautiful island woman whose black hair was still moist from washing when she arrived shortly after the main group left the sitting room; the Gray Bird woman called Katarina crammed her buxom self in beside her willowy brother, Wei. The Duke's younger son moved over with his elder brother so that Alef and another man-at-arms could share the spot he vacated, and there followed a playful scuffle as the brothers vied for the actual seat of the chair as opposed to the armrest (Alef pulled rank over Banadam in a similar contest). Noriko's brother chose to occupy the armrest on his grandfather's chair while most of the older folk sat singly. Dr. Clairgeeta's bodyguard—Lori son of Someone—and Officer Sigurad preferred to stand. Orne —looking as shy and out of place as Ashre felt—cast around, then settled for standing behind the chair of Wei, who had brought him here. For herself, the Clan-girl decided that standing looked more comfortable than sitting in such cramped quarters. Ronan wasted no time in wriggling under the table where he could beg for treats and catch fallen bits of food._

_Izark took a chair close to the Japanese quarter but did not engage them in conversation. The warrior seemed more stoic than ever, but he smiled when Noriko returned and, noting the general trend, seated herself on the young man's lap, albeit with the ready blush Ashre had noticed earlier._

_Gaya and the assistants had almost finished passing around the table settings when the Lady Glocia entered. Commander Alef half rose from his chair. Picking up the cue, the other guardsman started to slide off the armrest, but the young woman shook her head at them until they settled back down. Surprised yet again, Ashre watched as the Duke's heir stood behind her parents, earning a troubled glance from the Commander. There was some kind of interaction there, a message the young noblewoman communicated in the way she crossed her arms over her chest and lifted her chin authoritatively. Alef held his peace. Still, it had not been an order, just an assertion of preference._

_There was such familiarity– camaraderie– here. Gilenee men-at-arms sat while the young mistress stood. The family de Gilenee, state officials of Guzena and the famous Dr. Clairgeeta of Aibisk sat cheek to jowl with Gray Bird warriors, street guards and foreign commoners, the dignity of rank all but forgotten as they piled around the single large—but not nearly large enough—table. What was it, wondered the Kilahb girl, that connected people of such vastly different circumstances?_

_Once everyone was served, the assistants found places on the arms of Zena's chair while Gaya occupied a stool. Everyone ate as Duke Jeida engaged the Sergeant—who, incidentally, had been a captain in the Duke's royal guard—in a session of catch-up._

_The Duke spun quite a tale as he recounted the events of his exile three years ago. Several things were made clear to the Kilahb in the listening. Here was at least part of the answer to her questions concerning what bound this group together: shared trauma. However, it did not escape her attention that the Duke glanced toward Izark and Noriko at several points during the story, or that the young couple became very still whenever these points were approached. Others in the group had similar reactions, though most seemed to make a habit of looking _away_ from the pair. These people spent more time shooting sideways looks at the Sergeant and his man, at Orne (who made himself as small as possible at the mention of Lord Nada and the tournament), and at Ashre herself. The Kilahb guessed that omissions were being made because there were unknown elements present. _

"_And so we once again find ourselves in Selena Guzena," Duke Jeida finished his account. "You cannot imagine how glad I am to find you here as well, Jul. When they told me that you had left Gilenee, there was no way to trace you after two whole years."_

_The old soldier shrugged. "There was nothing I could do in Zago, Your Grace. Duke Kemil had me blacklisted and under watch."_

"_But you weren't even a member of the household!" Alef exclaimed, indignant on the part of his old mentor. "You'd been retired for—what, twelve years?"_

_Jul raised his single bushy eyebrow at the Commander. "Do you honestly think Kemil and his people would make that distinction?" he asked through a mouthful of stew. He swallowed before continuing, "I know I wouldn't, had I been in his position. Then again, I'd have made sure my underlings actually kept watch. I gave them the slip—spent the last few years in Parachina."_

"_But why did you not return to Gilenee when my father was reinstated?" Rotarna asked. "Your parish is still open, you know."_

"_Young master Rotarna, I'm not as young as I used to be," the Sergeant huffed, "and I didn't like the idea of coming back the way I went. I was taking the trip in stages, on main roads. That's how I made it here, but…" He seemed to scowl down at the table. "I had to see a doctor for this damned leg. By the time she let me off the crutches, I'd gotten caught up in that mess in Market District."_

"_He means that he was browbeating the former sergeant for the whole month he _should _have been resting," Jul's officer, Sigurad, whispered loudly enough for everyone including the current Sergeant to hear. "Then Sergeant Ziran took off when we found out he'd been taking bribes. When the higher-ups saw how many complaints a certain Jul Hirza Aevin had lodged against Ziran, they decided that His Cantankerousness here would do as a replacement."_

"_That fool was as incompetent as he was corrupt!" With that, 'His Cantankerousness' launched full tilt into a rant about the turncoat he'd 'had no choice' but to replace. The rest of the group either listened seriously or chuckled as their natures dictated (a smirking Alef leaned back to mime at Sigurad "It was 'Hammerhelm' in Zago")._

_For her part, Ashre grinned. This felt almost like a clan meeting, when the elders got up to tell the extended Clan of the Tazasina Kilahb how their individual families had fared since the last meeting. Though revered for their wisdom and experience, Clan-fathers and Clan-mothers were no less irritable than their counterparts in other cultures, and no less infamous for their short tempers._

_The thought of her Clan-father, Parzhru, crushed her good humor._

_She should have been back by now._

_Even so, the general course of the conversation running around the cramped table was fascinating, so much so that Ashre was disappointed when the time came for everyone to turn in._

The Kilahb girl frowned as she snuggled deeper under her blankets. The trouble with learning by inference was that one never knew if one's interpretation were correct, or if one was missing parts of the picture. She wished she had had the chance to bounce some thoughts off Izark—who had risen dramatically in her opinion over the course of the Duke's story—or the friendly Noriko before Gaya hustled her off to be dunked in a tub and tucked into bed, but Izark and Noriko seemed to have vanished.

_One strange day, _Ashre concluded. She yawned and turned over, struggling a little with the blankets that Ronan held down tight. With her eyes closed and her dog's significant mass settled against her side, the girl could almost believe that the snores issuing from the main bed were her father's, and not the Seer Zena's. _Or maybe, _she thought blurrily, as people do when their minds lapse into unconsciousness, _maybe this is all a dream. Yes, that's it; I'm only dreaming. Selena Guzena, indeed. Shadow thieves and one-eyed sergeants. Islanders, mother hen Gray Birds– what next? The Seer Zena collects assassins, and the heiress of Gilenee stands at attention for her guards… _

Duke Jeida dandling his lady on his knee… The weightlessness of flight…

The chorus of Selena Guzena's bells, chiming the first part of the morning. Ashre could not remember falling asleep.

X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X

Shortly after Ashre noted her disappearance, Noriko inhaled deeply, filling her lungs with the cool night air. Lying on her back on the tiled roof, she took a moment to savor the way the breath stretched the muscles of her back and chest, and then exhaled gustily.

"Rough day?" Izark asked as he shook out a thick blanket and laid it flat on the bumpy, tilted surface of the roof. He lay down on one half, holding the other down with a long arm.

Seeing this, Noriko rolled to her hands and knees and crawled over. "Not really; it's just that there was so much to do. First Otou-san wanted to see my translations, then I was helping Rottenina, and then we had to prepare for all these extra guests. And what with Ma–" Halfway through the act of pillowing her head on Izark's out flung arm, she clamped her mouth shut. Too late.

"'Mama'?" the young man prompted with sharpened attention. "You mean Yuri? What happened?"

"N-nothing." _Time to change the subject, _Noriko thought privately. Casting around, she found the stars. "Izark, where is the Roc? I keep forgetting." This was a lie and she was pretty sure he knew it, but it was better than following the current discussion. She hadn't consented to being carried up two and a half stories to talk about the awkwardness she felt with her family. She _had _come to spend some much needed time alone with Izark.

For his part, Izark chose to ignore the evasion. He hadn't brought her up so high to talk about what her family thought of him (as he assumed). He _had _engineered this little scheme in order to spend some much needed time alone with Noriko.

Extending his unoccupied arm up, the young man pointed to the constellation she asked about. "There, above the Great Tree. In winter the Spearman, Vam, aims for its eye," He said, tracing what shapes were visible with the point of his index finger as he named them.

"Spearman? The one from the myth?" Noriko asked, wriggling over until she could cuddle against the warrior's side and prop her head on his shoulder.

"That's right," Izark confirmed, the recently unburdened arm automatically curling over her waist. It was so pleasant, being able to hold her without a certain young Gray Bird turning up to pester them. Locks and latches posed only the most minor of inconveniences for Wei, as he had demonstrated only that day; thus, privacy was a luxury that the pair had not enjoyed for several months. Though the warrior was puzzled by Wei's sudden interest in housework, he welcomed the respite from their rascally ally's harassment.

It was _nice_ to take a break from travel and crisis; nice, to escape from being watched by everyone and everything with eyes to see. The young man sighed and rested his cheek against the top of his sweetheart's head. Noriko's hair was soft against his skin; her closeness and the warmth of her body soothed him like nothing else. "Talk to me," he murmured, his breath stirring a wisp of brown bangs.

Noriko thought for a moment. "Did you have the kumrig sauce at dinner?" she asked, naming the dark orange liquid they had invented together.

"U-hmm?"

"I told Mama about it earlier. She wanted to try some, so Auntie Gaya made a little from my instructions. I haven't had real shoyu for a long time, so I was a little worried that Mama wouldn't like our version. But she said it is was almost exactly the same!" As an afterthought she added, "She did think it was more like tamari than usukuchi or koikuchi, though."

"You used those words before. What's the difference again?"

"Usukuchi and koikuchi are light and dark types of shoyu. Tamari is also a shoyu, but it is made without any wheat– that's a kind of grain. All three have different uses…"

The girl continued to chatter for some time. Izark relished it; his was a listening personality. When he had first met her, the young warrior had been irked by the way she tended to prattle on, regardless of whether or not he understood what she said. Now it troubled him when Noriko trailed off into silence—either she had fallen asleep suddenly, as she tended to do, or she was thinking about something that made her uncomfortable. As a general rule, the young woman did not talk about the things that made her unhappy.

She was not asleep. Therefore…

"Noriko?"

"Yes?"

"What's wrong?"

A pause. "Izark, what's going to happen? With Market District?"

Noriko waited patiently through the thoughtful silence that always preceded Izark's carefully crafted statements.

"Jul wants me to take random shifts, with double duty once or twice every five days," he answered finally. "I'll be gone tomorrow morning—hopefully he'll give me some kind of schedule after that." It was his turn to pause. She was not going to like the next part; _he_ didn't like it much and it was his plan. "I… shouldn't come back here everyday."

The young woman sat up pulling out of the curve of his arm. Izark couldn't bring himself to look at her. He stared at the sky as he continued, "The only way the Market Guard is going to recover is by using a decoy. I can act as a sort of bait, but if the criminals find out that I'm living here they will definitely attack this place. The others will have to be careful, too. Noriko," he said, his voice entreating as he strove to meet her eyes—

Only to find that she refused to look at him. He sat up as well. _Noriko. Noriko. _Her mind was closed to him. That didn't stop the warrior feeling the distress her body vented like steam. Tentatively, he reached for her hand, lacing his fingers with hers. He had expected her to be upset, but not _this _kind of upset.

Suddenly, Noriko's gaze darted back to his, eyes flashing with hurt. Her tone was unusually sharp when she snapped, _"I don't like it."_

Inwardly, Izark cringed. Rare was the occasion that Noriko spoke harshly. Even rarer was the instance in which she spoke harshly to _him_. When she did, it meant he was doing or had done something that was either unintelligent or arbitrary. Outwardly, he twined their fingers still more securely and listened as she stated her case.

"Every time there's trouble, you tell me that I'm not allowed to be with you. You go off and get yourself hurt—and I don't care that it takes less than a day for you to heal broken ribs, Izark! Otou-san was very correct this morning when he said someone would have to 'bell the cat.' But it's always_ you _who ends up taking the most risk!" the young woman shrilled. She was practically quivering with indignation. "It's not—it's not—"

"I know," Izark said hastily, before she found the words to further articulate her frustration. "I know, but—Noriko, I am the only one who _can _take this risk."

The girl bowed her head, acknowledging his point. "I understand that. I accepted it a long time ago," she mumbled at their still clasped hands. "_But,_" she added, lifting her eyes to fix him with a look of steely resolve, "I will not accept being left behind all the time. If you do not come back often enough, then I will go to the station to _find _you."

A stunned silence met her pronouncement. Then; _"Absolutely not." _The warrior regarded his love grimly. "That building is under watch by the gangs, not to mention whatever double-agents Jul hasn't identified yet. If you or anyone from this house visits there, you could be followed back. There is no telling what the gang chiefs might do when they get desperate. No, you may not go to the station."

"I'm not asking permission, Izark."

For the second time in less than a minute, Izark found himself staring dumbly at the willful set of Noriko's face. He didn't know what to say.

She would do it, he knew. Three years ago, Doros had told him that she'd jumped out a third story window of Rachef's Rienkan residence in the attempt to go to Izark when he was trapped under Mt. Purple Spirit. The fact that Noriko had a strong aversion to narrow ledges only made this feat seem more incredible. Then, about two years ago in Donya, Noriko had escaped Rachef a second time by synchronizing with a pair of chimos. The effort had nearly killed her. Even so, she'd managed to teleport the five and a half miles separating her from the warrior before collapsing.

She would do it, and there was precious little he could do to stop her.

The young man sighed, resigned. "Very well," he conceded, "I will return here. Daily," He added hurriedly, noting the way her eyes narrowed at the vagueness of his original promise.

Noriko nodded, a little curtly. "Thank you."

They sat silently for a while, looking at each other. The warrior considered the young woman he'd spent the better part of the last four years with. This was not the first time they had quarreled. Before, Noriko had always returned to her usual, accommodating self as soon as the argument was resolved. Now, something in her expression and in the way she held herself told him that she was not yet satisfied.

Realizing this, he hesitated a moment before saying, "There's—something else, isn't there? Some—other reason you're upset with me."

Noriko frowned, but it was a thoughtful frown, and not directed at him. Rather, her pensive gaze seemed to turn inward as the young woman considered her feelings.

"No," she finally replied, slowly. Her eyes met his again, and even in the dim star and lamplight he could see the confusion in their brown depths. "Yes—I don't know. Everything was off kilter today, Izark. So yes, there's another reason I'm upset, but not necessarily with you. Maybe—maybe I'm angry with myself, but—I don't know why." Abruptly, the young woman leaned forward and rested her forehead on her love's chest. "I sorry," he heard her whisper.

Warm, strong arms wrapped around her shoulders. Izark bent his head, the side of his jaw brushing against her temple. She could feel the heat of his breath as he murmured in her ear.

"A lot of people were on edge today. That Kilahb kid is in way over her head, and I'm guessing Glocia exploded on you this evening. Jeida's tense, too—I get the feeling the talks between Zago and Guzena aren't going as smoothly as he hoped. Maybe you're picking up on what they're feeling, or maybe it's just dealing with everything that's happened today. Or," he paused, drawing back to look at her seriously as she looked up at him, "it might be something else entirely." He embraced her again, whispering, "It doesn't matter now. Just let me know when you figure it out, alright?"

Noriko smiled then. It was not her normal, sunny beam, but it was still warm, still sweet. "Okay."

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Please review :)

~Muse


	11. Braids

Author's Note: Sorry for the wait, folks! Thanks for all your encouragement and suggestions. And your patience.

Special thanks to BlueTrillium, who beta read this chapter; and to fumblingwords, who has been very supportive.

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Chapter 11: Braids

_6 days later_

Cerise District—or, to those who didn't bother with historical names, Warehouse District—was probably the oldest part of Selena Guzena. The name _Cerise_ had its roots in the old civilization of north-western Guzena, which predated the empire to which the modern country owed its name. Now, six hundred years after that culture was supplanted by that of the Torakhan invaders, the capital of Guzena still managed to hold on to its ancient identity.

All was quiet in the last hours before dawn as two of the district's finest walked home after the graveyard shift. One was a street officer; the other spent his watch keeping track of their garrison's jail.

At the moment, the jail guard was holding forth about the strange events he had witnessed less than an hour before, talking fast and with great excitement. "So anyways, I'm just about 'a take a bit o' nap when this kid in Market's uniform walks in, and he's carryin' Keensilver—_the _Keensilver—over his shoulder. Asks if we've room fer a prisoner; that the Market cells are full up. Well, I'm not about 'a say we're too full fer _Keensilver_, so I opens a box fer 'im an' shows 'im where to write it down, an' when he's done I follows 'im out, friendly like. Then all 'a sudden—well, I don't rightly know _what _happened, but all 'a sudden there's two more a' Serrik's special hires passed out on the cobbles, and the Market guard's askin' me—cool as ye please, mind—he's askin' me if we'll take _them _as well's Keensilver. Then he just up an' leaves, sayin' his shift's over and he's to be gettin' home!"

The listener snorted, skeptical. His comrade was known for exaggeration. "'Course he did! Night shift in Market keeps the same hours as us in Cerise, and he had farther to go before he could sign out."

"That's not my point! What I'm sayin' is, this guy just looks like some kinda' pretty boy, but he laid out two of Serrik's best b'fore ye could blink—and he wasn't hardly _breathin'_!"

XI XI XI XI XI

At the Market District Garrison, the 'pretty boy' under discussion was just signing out when Sergeant Jul appeared from his quarters. Catching sight of Izark, the one-eyed ex-soldier stumped over to say hello.

"Well?" Jul croaked, his voice made raspier by sleep. "How'd it go?"

"Fine, but the cells are all full. If you don't get this bunch moved to the prison soon, you'll have no place to put new arrivals," the black-haired swordsman answered without looking up. His right hand made a quick, decisive motion as he finished writing. Izark straightened, acknowledging the Sergeant with a nod. "Good day, Jul," he said, and turned to go.

The old man stopped him, hobbling rapidly closer and placing a gnarled hand on his shoulder (Izark had a sudden insight as to where Alef had learned that particular mannerism).

"A moment, lad," the Sergeant grumbled softly. "You've another shift in the evening; wouldn't it be better to stay here for the day? It's not like we don't have beds. There's a kitchen so you won't go hungry, and if you need company, Sigurad should be coming in soon." Through his teeth he muttered, "I thought you agreed with me that it would be safer if you did not return to that house…" He trailed off as Izark shook his head.

"I agree with your logic," the young man answered in kind, "and I will be careful, but I don't intend to spend my off time here. There are—reasons," he finished vaguely.

"_Harrumph," _Jul grunted, scowling. "Then at least wait a bit so you can escort Ashre. The gladiator has agreed to live at the garrison for the time being, but that little chit says she'd rather sleep up there." The old man rubbed his forehead. "'Can't say I blame her; one little girl in a station built for men, with barely any women around. Still, I can't help but think she risks her life every time she walks out of here with nothing but that dog of hers."

When he put it that way, Izark couldn't see any way to refuse. "She doesn't like going over the roofs," he mused, having no real argument.

"Doesn't matter," said an accented voice. The Clan-girl trooped in behind Officer Sigurad, Ronan at her heel. "I don't like brawls much—or cities, now that you mention it. I'm getting used to them. Ronan, too." Automatically she reached out—as opposed to down—and scratched the huge gray dog behind one ear.

Sigurad cocked his thumb at the duo, smiling broadly. "You should've seen it, Jul. The big puppy grins and half of 'em head for ground. Those who don't—well, this kid's pretty handy with a club." The big guard ruffled the girl's straw-colored hair, earning himself an amber glare.

"I am _not _a kid," she snapped, "And I'm not the only girl, either. There's Katarina. And Wei—he counts, doesn't he?"

An ambivalent silence met her remark. Then Jul cleared his throat. "_They_ are not guards, and you know it. Technically, you _are_ the only girl," he corrected, frowning at Ashre. It was obvious that he was having second thoughts about having hired her. The crotchety veteran had admitted to wishing she and Ronan might help in the station rather than contribute to street duty, but there were so many injured guards who needed the lighter work—Sigurad's partner, for one.

Irate, the young Kilahb opened her mouth to defend her competence, but the old man held up his hand for silence. In the Clan, seniority ruled. With an act of will, she clenched her teeth to keep in a sharp retort.

The Sergeant continued. "Never mind. Izark, get out of here so you can get some rest before this evening. You too, Girl. Sigurad can make your report. Go on." Having accomplished all he could expect to, Jul limped off toward the training yard.

XI XI XI XI XI

Izark was growing accustomed to ferrying people over the roofs, just as Ashre and Ronan were getting used to being ferried. Or rather, Ashre was getting used to it; Ronan still shook like a leaf whenever they reached a gap too wide for them to cross without Izark's assistance.

Though they were still in uniform, there was little risk of being followed or attacked outside the Market and Cerise Districts. Rather than submit the dog to unnecessary trauma, the swordsman let the warrior-girl and her charge down a few streets from Zena's door, then continued on at his own pace.

He touched down in the garden and paused a moment, taking stock. Up in the attic, Noriko should have been sound asleep along with Anita, Rottenina and Katarina, unless the tribeswoman and her sibling were attending to their roles in the Market Guard's recovery effort. The warrior frowned. Noriko _was _sound asleep, but not in the attic.

He first headed for the room he shared with Dr. Clairgeeta, Wei, and Lori. Moving soundlessly so as to avoid disturbing anyone else at this early hour, he changed into a simple housecoat and breeches. Silently he thanked Gaya and Zena a thousand times over for understanding the drawbacks of packing light. The sisters had provided casual garments to supplement the sturdy traveling layers Clairgeeta's party had brought on their backs. The coat—a dark blue, with reddish brown trim—was more the philosopher's size than Izark's, but the younger man's shoulders had filled out considerably in the last year or so, so the fit wasn't too bad. The breeches were, admittedly, a tad short, but that was hardly unusual these days. He sometimes suspected that the height he'd gained since he was twenty had all gone to his legs.

When he was finished tugging on a pair of borrowed slippers, the warrior padded down the hall to the library.

Quietly he pulled aside the curtain and stepped into a well-lit study. Three full walls were devoted to bookshelves, though only one was in use at the moment. Books—luxuries whose production involved not only an original manuscript but also vast amounts of paper and leather, copying either by printing press or hand, and binding—were relatively expensive; the looting of past years had stripped Zena's collection. It was testament to the King of Guzena's remorse over having fired his best Seer that even that much had been replaced since her return. The remaining wall was dominated by a large south-facing window that caught a good amount of light throughout the day. Near this light source stood a desk, and at the desk sat Noriko, head down, the open pages of a massive old tome serving her for a pillow. The throw someone had draped over her was slipping off her shoulders, while the spent oil lamp standing beside her indicated that she'd been there all night. As he crossed the room, the grimace Izark wanted to make somehow turned into a smile. It was _just_ like Noriko to worry about whether he was getting enough rest, and then stay up all night reading.

Gently the black-haired man tugged the blanket back up and tucked the edges under her elbows, then leaned over her shoulder to squint at the ancient text. He couldn't make out much; the girl's sleeping form covered much of the tiny, fading script. Still, he could see some accent marks being used in a way that was outdated by at least a century, so he guessed it was the kind of reading people often nodded off over.

Noriko stirred slightly. A long wisp of hair fell over her face, making her mutter and shift again. Guessing that it tickled, Izark lifted the strands away from her nose. The girl settled.

He let the wisp slide through his fingers, contemplating its length. Even with the regular trims she insisted on, Noriko's hair now hung to her waist. A smirk stole slowly over the young man's face. Most of the time she braided it back, but this morning it hung free—perfect for playing with.

Stealthily he gathered a couple more lengths and wove them together with the first, making a little braid at the back of the young woman's head. The piece looked a bit— _awkward, _but it was more elegant than the ones she'd given _him._

He couldn't remember the details, but it had started with some comment on his part; some truism that had him doubling over with laughter at the sight of her stunned, scarlet face.

Noriko had pouted. She usually did when he 'teased' her.

In retrospect, he really should have anticipated payback. At least, he would think ruefully, she chose a private moment to enact her revenge.

Southern Evana was a quite place, affording all the benefits of peace. These included leisurely strolls through the foothills, just the two of them. It had been during one of these 'trysts', as Wei liked to call them, that they had taken a rest on a grassy riverbank. This was not unusual. Neither was the fact that Izark had chosen Noriko's lap as a head rest; nor the way Noriko played with his hair, finger combing his sleek black mane, brushing his bangs this way and that.

It was the taut feeling on certain parts of his scalp that told Izark something was up. _How _the girl had laughed at his expression as he'd felt around his head, discovering not one, but two—three—_five _little plaits sticking out in all directions, and slowly processed the fact that Noriko had played a trick on him.

Air was displaced in the hallway as a warm body moved toward the library. Izark spared it a fleeting thought, but no more as he started on a second braid; there was nothing threatening in the presence. He didn't look up until the person he'd felt snorted from the doorway. The warrior took a moment to identify the person's aura—and froze, having just experienced the sensation some poor, highly strung individual had termed 'jumping out of one's skin.' Steeling himself, he turned his head to let his eyes confirm what he already knew.

Noriko's father was grinning from ear to ear, a steaming tea tray in his hands. "No mind me," he said in broken Midland, ducking his head as he skirted around to a side table where he set the tray. Izark watched as the small-framed Japanese man poured himself a mug of the hot pinkish liquid, then sank down into a deep armchair that had made the hulking Barago look average-sized when he sat in it. Cozily ensconced, Daisuke picked up the sheaf of papers laying over the armrest, leaned into the light of a standing lamp and, for all appearances, proceeded to ignore everything else.

It was more than appearance. The swordsman felt the nuances in the other man's presence—the ones he'd come to equate with _attention—_shift so completely as to be disconcerting.

Izark hesitated a moment longer, studying the peculiar little man. He saw a wiry islander, forty-ish, wearing rumpled sleeping clothes that were at least one size too large. He saw arching eyebrows in a sharply planed, clean-shaven face; fine black hair pulled into a horsetail. Silver streaked sparse sideburns and threaded the shock of hair over the man's high forehead. His eyes—darker than his children's, but sharing that distinctive fold of the upper lids—were all-together too wide-awake, but once they were focused on something other than Izark, there didn't seem to be anything especially intimidating about them.

Noriko stirred again, and sighed. If he wanted to finish his little joke, Izark was going to have to do it before she woke up. He struggled with himself a moment more, uncomfortable in the presence of a third party, but the opportunity was too good to pass up.

The young woman's even breathing paused for an instant, then continued at a waking pace.

_Izark? _The query was blurry, half-unconscious.

Smiling fondly, the warrior rested his forearms on the desk, bringing his face into her field of view. "Here."

Noriko smiled drowsily back, eyelashes fluttering as her sight focused. The sleepy smile widened, and she reached up a hand to the young man's cheek. He flushed, startled by the feeling of her fingers moving over thin bristle—had he forgotten to shave yesterday? If so, then his upper lip at least would be looking a bit shadowy.

The young woman didn't seem to object; on the contrary, her fingers moved inquiringly along his jaw line and around the corners of his mouth. The warrior chuckled at the ticklish sensation, but found himself becoming increasingly more interested in the proximity of her palm to his lips.

Paper rustled in the background. The warrior stopped dead. He'd forgotten about Daisuke. Noriko was frowning—she'd seen him stiffen—a question in her wide brown eyes.

_We have company, _Izark answered, adding an image of the Japanese man swimming in cushions at their backs.

The girl lifted her head, twisting to look at her father. _So? Otou-san doesn't notice _anything_ when he's reading_.

She saw one dark eyebrow lift ever so slightly. _Nothing?_

_Nothing. _She thought about illustrating her point, but never got that far.

_Well then._

She managed not to gasp as his mouth seared the base of her thumb.

The hot spot where his breath had touched her skin was cool before Noriko realized that the warrior was talking out loud. "I'm sorry—what?" She could feel her ears burning; she could only guess what that meant for her face.

Izark managed not to smile, but his eyes danced with wicked amusement—and something else.

"I said, 'what's this?'" he repeated, tapping the pages of the book turned pillow. Privately, he was rather pleased with himself. He'd gotten the reaction he wanted, blush and all.

"Oh. Uh—" the girl fumbled, trying to remember the title, but at the moment she was at a loss recalling her own name. Closing one hand between the pages she'd been studying, she lifted the volume so Izark could see the characters stamped into the binding.

He read the title, blinked, and looked pointedly at Noriko. "_A Treatise on the Oligarchy of Tazasina," _he stated dryly. "You _do_ know that the oligarchy is now the monarchy? That the Charujek line has spent the last two-hundred fifty years—"

"—stamping out the other ruling families," Noriko finished with him as she set the book down and reopened it to her page. "Dr. Clairgeeta told me. I just thought there might be a section on the Tazasina Kilahb. _'On the Wind'_ only talks about the seafaring clans, and then it's mostly hearsay." She indicated a much thinner but equally worn volume balancing on the far right corner of the desk.

The swordsman circled the desk and palmed the copy of _On the Wind: Customs of the Kilahb Nomads. _"But nothing on the land clans?"

The young woman shrugged. "It mentions them, but doesn't actually say anything _about_ them—and I can't count on what it _does_ say. The author writes that he researched authentic documents," she explained, "but he never names these documents, or who wrote them, or explains why they were written."

"Hmmm," Izark mused as he moved to return the disappointing title to its place on the shelves. "How about the '_Treatise'_? Did you find anything in that?"

"Just the oligarchy's policy towards 'undesirables'. It was—kind of sick."

"The monarchy's not much better. Anything else?" Finding the shelf for culture and politics, Izark wedged _'On the Wind' _into its place and scanned the books to either side of it, searching for something that might prove useful.

"Not that I can find." There was a dull thud as Noriko closed the heavy _'Treatise'. _She looked up at him as he turned and made his way back to the desk. "I'm going to ask Glocia to take a look in the palace library. But really, shouldn't we just ask Ashre why she's here?"

Izark's smile was crooked as he replied, "We could, but there's no guarantee that we'd get an honest answer." He propped himself up against the desk. "She's not very trusting; actually, she's not trusting, period. But I doubt she's a runaway."

"Yes," Noriko agreed, her brow knit. They had talked about this, and concluded that the Kilahb girl was entirely too proud of her Clan's way of life to have renounced it. That much was clear in her demands to be treated as the adult her people believed her to be and in her badly disguised disdain for much of the sedentary culture that currently surrounded her. So then, what was she doing so far off her family's seasonal routes? "Izark?"

"Yeah?"

"I was wondering—you said the monarchy in Tazasina is almost as bad as the Torakhan governance. And there's that thing with Duke Jeida." Every time the young Kilahb so much as occupied the same room as the Grand Duke, all her natural arrogance seemed to desert her, leaving behind your typical fourteen-year-old in the presence of a famous dignitary: mute, diffident, and otherwise completely cowed. Even though the mild mannered nobleman had given up trying to make conversation with her days ago, Ashre still watched him and his family with that strange expression that was part worship, part terror.

It was the terror that caught Izark's interest. Then again, perhaps _terror_ wasn't the right word. The anxiety the warrior felt from the young teenager was more akin to stage fright than actual mortal fear.

He met Noriko's concerned brown eyes. "Do you think she wants to talk to him?"

The quiet was broken by the distant chiming of first bell. It was dawn.

Izark sighed. The activity level in the house had jumped at the signal for morning. Ashre and Ronan would be arriving at any moment, putting further research on hold. It was time to clean up, eat, and sleep before that evening shift Jul had studiously reminded him of. He considered skipping the rest the Sergeant expected him to take, but decided against it. Sleep was difficult for the swordsman—naps were nearly impossible. On the other hand, Noriko would worry if he didn't at least make an effort, and besides, a full sun cycle _was _wearing on the edge of his mental, if not physical endurance.

There was a great deal of rustling and shifting as Daisuke attempted to wriggle out of the deep armchair. "[Noriko? Could you lend me a hand?]"

Laughing, the young woman stood up from her seat and went to her father. "[Otou-san! How on earth did you get up the other times? I know you went to get tea.]" While allowing Daisuke to haul himself up using her arm, she smiled at Izark, who was backing toward the door. "See you at breakfast," she told him, switching flawlessly to Midland.

The warrior managed a nod, then disappeared behind the curtain, leaving Noriko feeling a little puzzled. There had been something odd in his expression, something that made her think he was trying and failing to keep a straight face. Distracted, she almost overbalanced as Daisuke heaved himself into a standing position and his weight came off her arm. She turned to apologize, and saw that her father was looking at her, a similar—_restrained _smile pulling at the corners of his mouth.

"[Otou-san? Is something wrong?]"

Daisuke grinned at his daughter. "[No. I just realized something interesting, that's all.]" Retrieving the tea tray, the Japanese man turned and headed for the door, saying over his shoulder, "[Nice braids.]"

…_Braids? _Confused, Noriko brought a hand up to her hair…

"IZARK!"

xxxxx

Hmmm…I guess you could say this chapter is based on that picture of Noriko braiding Izark's hair (you should be able to find it by Googling From Far Away for images). Now, if I could just read the script…

However, I suspect my real inspiration came from another manga by Hikawa-san, a rather long one-shot called _Choto Friday_. I don't believe it's ever been published in English, but you should be able to find a good fan translation on. You can also try ––but I'd only suggest it for those who have a Mac, use Mozilla Firefox for their server, and/or have killer security software. It's _riddled _with viruses, pop-ups, and other nasty surprises. By comparison, Anymanga is pretty safe.

Thanks for reading, and please review.

~Muse : )


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